Feels Like Home
by bea.tricks
Summary: When B&B are poisoned, they must find the person responsible before another attempt is made. Mystery, fluff, drama, smut, and romance abound! Now complete!
1. Headache

_i've rated this story M for future chapters, cuz you KNOW i'm gonna get to the smut eventually, and we will also be winding our way through a puzzling and dangerous mystery. this chapter, however, is complete and utter fluff. seriously. see your dentist afterward. i shall not be held accountable for any cavities._

_i had a headache myself when i wrote this chapter, and what's the best thing for a headache? vicodin? no, a comforting booth! but in the absence of an actual, real-live booth, we'll have to do with my imagination._

_this story was conceived of during the dry spell of the writers' strike, so it assumes general knowledge through santa in the slush._

_i'm not exactly sure who really owns bones, whether it be fox, or hart or kathy reichs, or some combination of them and other entities... but i'm pretty sure i'm not one of them._

* * *

Temperance Brennan hadn't felt so off-kilter since she fell out of a tree at age thirteen. It had been such a fall that she could taste the pain. Metallic. Slightly like blood, but more bitter. Now she was getting a repeat performance, made no less irksome by the man who stood stubbornly by her side, firing endless questions at the doctor.

She didn't need to stay at the hospital overnight, said the physician, she knew that she certainly didn't want to, but he'd added the caveat that she shouldn't be alone. She groaned inwardly. Why did he have to say that with Seeley Booth, _gentleman hero_ in the room? Her father or brother could have helped were they not in prison. She was certain that Angela would have volunteered in a heartbeat, but she had sped off on vacation with Hodgins the previous week and, being as how Brennan's head was throbbing menacingly, she finally submitted to Booth's insistence that she stay at his apartment. He was already at her side, after all, and had been since he'd whisked her to the emergency room six hours earlier.

"I really don't need to be taken care of, Booth," stated Brennan while pulling on her boots.

Booth shifted feet, hands stubbornly low on his hips, "I know you don't _need_ it, but you deserve a little bit of coddling."

She scoffed.

"Look, you've said yourself that head injuries can be unpredictable. There's no way in hell I'm leaving you alone tonight, Bones. Just drop it and let me help you."

In the end she acquiesced and let him pull the truck around to the entrance of the hospital, where an orderly helped her into the front seat.

It seemed to Dr. Brennan that her partner was driving just a little bit more mildly than he usually did. Secretly glad, she kept her discomfort at the movement and glaring lights of oncoming cars to herself.

Booth eventually broke the quiet, "I knew there was something wrong with that lab."

"There's nothing wrong with it, Booth."

"It bit you!" Booth's low voice practically squeaked.

She looked out the window, closing her eyes when a set of bright headlights swept over the car, then spoke normally, "Last time I checked, the arm on the electron microscope did not have any teeth."

"Well, you mustn't have looked very carefully, because I swear I saw some come in contact with your skull."

"I wonder what Dr. Sweets would have to say about your choice of metaphor," she pondered calculatedly.

Was she serious? He wondered whether she would turn on him and snitch to the prepubescent shrink. They'd always been united against him, but this was Bones, there was no predicting her actions sometimes, even with his detailed knowledge. He deflected, "You hate psychology."

"Well, we have been working on a different case this week, but it does seem like a quick leap between having Gormogon hanging over our heads for months and anthropomorphizing inanimate objects, objects from _my_ lab no less, giving them figurative teeth and effectively turning them into the very thing we're hunting for."

"Technically, it's not _your_ lab, Bones."

She paused while Booth made a turn, twingeing slightly at the movement, then said, more quietly than normal, "Nuances of ownership. You are _my_ partner, but that doesn't mean you belong to me."

They sat in silence for a moment.

Booth's hands shifted nervously on the steering wheel. "You really going to bring that up to Sweets?"

"What? Ownership?"

"No, Bones, anthropomorphizing your lab."

"Well we need something to talk about there, or like you said, he might think we're hiding something and split us up."

He choked out a cocky chuckle, "That is _not_ going to happen."

"You know, there's a long history of the connection between protectiveness and notions of ownership," she said matter-of-factly.

"Yes. Yes, there is," he knew it was illogical to try, but he used his best end-of-discussion tone. It worked with most people, but Dr. Temperance Brennan was not most people, and when she didn't pursue his comment, he cast a concerned glance in her direction. She remained fixed forward and didn't return his gaze. He took the next turn very gingerly.

When they arrived in front of his apartment building, Booth slid into the parking spot nearest the front door and pulled the parking brake.

"This isn't your spot," Brennan noted as Booth moved around to her side of the car to help her out.

"Ownership again, Bones? No it's not mine. It's the guest spot, and it's a bit closer. No one'll mind it being occupied tonight." Booth thought she would be on the verge of protesting until he reached her side of the car and saw her face. She'd opened the door herself and swung her legs out, but sat still and stared at the pavement. She was definitely the worse for the ride home. From the beginning, Booth had tried to drive conservatively, and had taken backroads where traffic was less pronounced and turns were at slower speeds, but he had still felt her twinge occasionally in the seat next to him regardless of her banter. Her face was pale and she looked... well, she looked _weak_, which was a word that didn't belong in the same library as his partner, let alone the same sentence, but right now it fit. And it broke his heart.

"You gonna be alright to walk up to my place?" he asked gently.

She nodded almost imperceptibly, lips pursed shut, as she reached for his proffered arm and pulled herself to her feet. It was a relatively slow progression to his elevator which had, thank God, been fixed last week. The stairs would have been an ordeal; she never would have let him carry her. Stepping out onto his floor, she stumbled slightly and he shifted the hand at her back to her waist, holding her to his side as they walked the remaining distance.

"Do you feel like going to bed right away? If you're hungry, I could whip us up a little stir-fry," Booth let her make her own way to the couch, but followed closely behind until she sat down. "It has been nine hours since lunch, after all."

"I could eat," she smiled up weakly.

Booth smiled and rubbed his hands together, "Veggies a la Seeley coming right up."

Several pans made their way out of cupboards and ingredients snaked out of the fridge as Seeley Booth set his kitchen ablaze making dinner for himself and his partner.

In the living room, Brennan had stretched herself out on the couch, letting the sound of sizzling and light clanging from the kitchen lull her in the direction of her subconscious. She might have been able to sleep if her head weren't also surrounded by a bubble of intense, riling pain. Wait a minute, she'd been given medication for this. Hadn't Booth swept up all the bottles before they left the hospital? She was sure he had, but where had he left them? Her weary eyes scanned the room until they finally landed on a paper bag her partner had deposited on his dining room table and she made her way to retrieve it. A bottle of water, pop of a lid, and a gulp later she was back stretched out on the couch, waiting for the vicodin to take effect.

Before long, the sounds in the kitchen subsided and Booth backed out the door holding aloft two steaming plates, that -- if she was honest with herself -- smelled really good. Booth deposited them on the coffee table and settled next to her on the couch as she slid to a sitting position.

Booth was an annoyingly good cook (though he did seem to do everything well, so she figured it shouldn't come as a shock), but she ate slowly. The man beside her practically swallowed his dinner whole, including a few strips of steak. He'd had the good sense to not try to push meat on her, at least. It occurred to her with a pang that, though he hadn't said a thing about it, he hadn't eaten in nine hours either. Halfway through her own meal, he'd finished his and she pushed her plate into his hands.

"Don't you like it?" Booth asked, the tiniest hint of disappointment in his voice.

"No, it's great," Brennan replied. "It hit the spot, but I think my stomach is a little feeble at the moment. I'm not sure a full meal is a good idea."

He accepted her excuse and polished off her meal himself at her insistence. The dishes were cleared back into the kitchen, and when he returned, his partner was leaning her head back, pale and eyes winced shut.

"You doin' alright, Bones? Want to try for some sleep?"

"I'm not sure I'll be able to," she replied. "My head is killing me."

"Well, the doc gave you pain meds, right?"

"Yes, I took a pill before dinner. But apparently it hasn't gotten into my system yet." She pulled her head forward and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I guess I'll just get ready for bed, maybe a little movement will help."

"Great. You'll take my bed, of course, and I can sleep in Parker's room."

Brennan sighed, pain having temporarily worn down her resolve for independence, "Thanks, Booth. For all of this."

"Of course. You think I'm going to let my Bones suffer this out on her own?" They exchanged a smile and he led her down the hall to his bedroom, the one part of his apartment, she realized, that she had never seen. They walked in and she discovered it was surprisingly lush, decorated with dark wood and deep, resonant colors. A large bed with plush coverings was centered in the room, amongst a few well-worn armchairs and bookshelves. Her eyes brushed over a set of familiar and well-worn volumes in the shelf nearest his bed. Her name stared at her from the cracked spines and she wondered briefly if her partner's increased knowledge of scientific jargon was due to her own novels. She smiled. Booth disappeared inside his walk-in closet and emerged a minute later with an old, well-loved army tee and a pair of flannel pajama pants. "I think there's a, uh, spare toothbrush in the cabinet if you'd like to brush your teeth," he informed her as he passed over the garments.

She took them and padded into the attached bathroom to her right. A few minutes later a fresh-faced Brennan emerged in what she had decided were the most comfortable clothes she'd worn in a long time, though she'd had to tighten the pants to keep them from sliding down her slim hips. Booth had changed too, and disappeared into the bathroom for his own nighttime ritual.

The rushing water echoed and gurgled in the sink like a gentle river, like some playground for languorous fish. The movement of someone running hands through it was oddly soothing. The sound followed her as she slipped between the sheets of Booth's bed, settling herself in the clean cotton that smelled so much like her partner. She wished that the Vicodin would have been just soothing by now, but the pain pressed beneath the surface of her skull, seemingly trying to force its way out through her eyes and nose. She found her medications on the bedside table with a glass of water and wondered if she should take another. She eyed the bottle and willed the pain killers she'd already taken to start working. Relief had taken a long weekend, and seemed loath to return. She flopped back onto the pillow.

The light switch in the bathroom clicked off and Booth re-entered the bedroom, feet plopping unceremoniously on the hard wood. He wore similar flannel pants, and a very old, very thin t-shirt that flowed from his strong shoulders, clinging slightly all the way down his long torso. He must have splashed his hair, a few drops of water slid down his neck and marred the grey of his shirt.

"How's your head, Bones? Any better?"

Brennan grimaced, "Not really. I was just thinking about taking another pill."

"Well let's try something else, shall we, before you try to OD and check out in my bed?"

She took a deep breath. "I'm open to any ideas at this point."

Booth walked to her side. "Sit up and scoot forward," he directed. She did. Sitting behind her and leaning against the headboard, he pulled his knees up in front of him. "Okay, lean back." He reached to her shoulders and pulled her back gently against his legs so she was sitting supported and slightly reclined.

"Now, all you've gotta do, Bones, is relax."

She hadn't anticipated that his hands, the hands of a military man, a sniper, a boxer, would be so sweetly agile. She'd met his soft touch before on the few occasions when he'd guided her face toward his so he could examine her or meet her eyes, but that was hands acting as a whole. Booth's hobbies were ones that built power in rigid positions. She had expected his fingers to be strong and rough, but not so nimble and practiced in fluid movement.

They slid through her hair and traced light circles at the base of her scalp. First exceedingly soft, his touch slowly gained more pressure until the nerves under her skin simultaneously danced and dozed.

"That hurt?"

All she could do was to exhale a little pleased groan, which caught in her throat. She was sure it sounded more sexual than she had intended. Booth chuckled under his breath and spread his fingers to explore the rest of her head, steering clear of the large welt. She melted back against his legs and let his gentle fingers ease their way beneath the throbbing pain.

It was true that she was able to take care of herself, and she probably could have managed on her own, but Brennan finally conceded that her evening would have been a lot more difficult, even less pleasant had she not succumbed to Booth's demand that she let him help. She wasn't at full capacity, and it did appear to be an advantage to have someone to pick up the slack. The passiveness of the situation still made her restless, but with his fingers so attentive at her scalp, it felt that she was relaxing into a deep feeling of trust that had been hiding in some hidden corner of her memory. There had been a time when she'd had a family home, and an implicit, comforting faith in others, before it had been snatched away.

His fingertips massaged her head, trailed to her long neck and shoulders, and moved back up again. She didn't know how long he'd been at it, but she was fast sliding to a place where the pain, while still present, didn't really register anymore.

"Booth... where'd you learn this?" It surprised her when it came out as the indiscernable mumble of a person talking in their sleep.

His fingers momentarily stopped and slid to the sides of her neck as she felt him shift. "Hmm?" came the soft reply just inches from her ear. She discovered that she either couldn't or didn't want to repeat herself, exhaling deeply instead. A few more breaths and Booth's fingers had sent her to sleep.

* * *

She awoke to find herself completely wrapped up in warmth and arms and a scent that meant trust and comfort. Her mind briefly registered that it wasn't rational for a smell to have those characteristics, but her nostrils were filled with Booth, and the familiarity made her skin tingle. Had Booth fallen asleep with her? _Yes-yes_, said the low thudding of his heart into her ear. His legs had slid down and now she lay between them, reclined against his torso, head turned to the side and angled up so that her cheek rested on his firm chest.

Though her eyes hurt somewhat, Brennan risked opening them for a glimpse of her surroundings. It was mostly dark, though a deep blue light was beginning to glow through the wooden window blinds. Booth's face was angled down in the direction of hers, eyes closed, brow unfurrowed, mouth parted slightly. The slightest trace of a snore escaped his mouth and murmured through his chest. His arms were wrapped around her waist, over a bundle of blankets that he'd apparently pulled up over them.

Brennan let a smile curl the edge of her mouth and slid back to sleep against her partner's tranquil form.

* * *

Booth woke gradually to the feeling of a sweet weight in his arms. As his breaths grew deeper, Bones began to stir and emit tiny grunts and groans.

"Morning," Booth's voice came out deep and endlessly calm.

"Hi," Brennan's was a grinding garbage truck. She looked up at him and her eyes tensed at the movement.

"I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to fall asleep here..." he started.

"Not a problem. You're actually quite comfortable." She rested her head back on his chest and shut her eyes.

"So, is your head still splitting into little pieces? Or have we progressed to medium-sized pieces?"

"I feel a little better. It's amazing what a massage and a good night's sleep will do."

A self-satisfied grin crossed his face.

"I saw that."

"How could you see anything?" Booth countered, "Your face is nowhere near pointing this way and," he stretched his neck to look at her, "your eyes are closed."

"Daffodil, daisy, Booth. I know you."

He scoffed. "Those are _your_ favorite flowers, not mine. Guys don't have favorite flowers." He couldn't help but let the fingers of one hand run back to the nape of her neck and rub soft circles there.

"Where'd you learn how to do that, Booth?"

"You know, I actually don't remember." His voice faded out and they laid there sleepily for a minute, his fingers moving slowly.

"Hibiscus," Brennan muttered through her sleepy lips, and Booth blinked.

Hibiscus flowers. He did rather like them. As a matter of fact, though he had never thought about it, if he had to say what kind of flower were his favorite, he was certain that's what it would be. Was it possible that his partner, laying uncharacteristically vulnerable and half-asleep in his arms, was as good at reading him as he was reading suspects? She had seen through his secrets before, but he suspected that he just wasn't any good at lying to her. The act felt fundamentally unnatural. But hibiscus? Could she possibly deduce things about him that he didn't know about himself?

He felt refreshed, but he found his eyelids still heavy. It was the best night's sleep he'd had in ages, since as long as he cared to remember. He decided that he could stay like this, ignoring the rest of the world and curled up (innocently) in bed with his partner for a solid week and he'd be content. But it was too good to last. Nothing that nice wasn't balanced with something equally jarring.

Had he known the pain the rest of that particular day, the next several weeks would bring, he might never have left his bed. But he didn't know, and he extracted himself carefully from beneath his partner to make the two of them breakfast. Pancakes were in order, he thought.

* * *

_you didn't think it was going to all be tea and crumpets, did you?_

_i know other authors have talked about how much they love reviews, but i had no idea until i got a bunch of them for my last story. they seriously make my day/week. so send me love, reviews, and thoughts! criticisms too! i have a short distance from here planned/started, but only really really vaguely after that. if you're interested in helping me brainstorm, PM me, i could use a sounding board or two!_


	2. Pancakes

Booth let his partner sleep while he made his way to the kitchen. This was the second time in twelve hours that he'd cooked for her, and he loved it. He enjoyed the activity of the thing, and doing that service for Bones seemed like the most natural thing in the world. He left the kitchen door open as he worked away and by the time he'd piled a huge stack of pancakes on a plate next to the stove he heard bare feet padding down the hallway behind him. He smiled. Booth had discovered long ago exactly how long it took for the smell of pancakes to drift down to Parker's bedroom, and he knew that it was an absolutely surefire way to get his son out of bed. Apparently it worked with forensic anthropologists too.

Booth glanced over his shoulder, noting how gorgeous she looked in his pajamas with her hair all a mess, "You look like you're feeling stronger this morning."

"I definitely am. I am also _famished_," she pronounced the last word with particular emphasis.

"Good, because I have a surplus of pancakes here." Booth turned off the stove and dropped the spatula in the pan. "Wanna bring those out to the table?" He nodded at the plate of steaming goodness. "I'll grab us some plates and juice."

She inhaled the scent that rose from the plate in her hands as she walked into the dining room, placing it on the center of the table. Just behind her came Booth, piled comically high with plates, glasses, utensils and a carton of orange juice. Somehow, he managed to put it all down without breaking anything and then barreled back into the kitchen, returning this time with a plate of smoked sausages and a new bottle of blueberry syrup.

"This looks great, Booth," she said with a smile as she helped him set the table. "You went to all this trouble just for me?"

"Eh, it looks like more work than it is," he shrugged and poured two glasses of orange juice.

"All the same, I'll wash all the dishes when we're done."

Booth plopped into his chair and shook his head. "Nope."

"What? Why not?"

"Are you feeling completely, one hundred percent better?" Booth fixed her with an unblinking stare.

Brennan considered lying, but in the end decided against it. "Not quite."

"Well then I'm still taking care of you. I'll clean up our breakfast and you can rest."

She shot him a look.

"Look, Bones, I know it's not in your nature, but just go with it. When the day comes that I'm horrifically injured on the job, you can take care of me and we'll call it even."

She took a sip of the juice he'd placed before her and said, "It may be a long time before we're even."

Booth sighed and leaned forward on his elbows, "Here's the way I see it. You're my friend, Bones. When I do things for my friends I don't expect repayment. The people I choose for friends tend to have a similar mindset and wind up doing things for me, again not expecting repayment. It all balances out in the end, it's an equal relationship, and there's no point keeping tally. I know that you would always go out of your way to help me, because you already have, so a future kindness is as good as a past kindness in my mind."

Brennan smiled at him. It sounded like a wonderful way to live. She picked up her fork and moved to cut into her pancakes.

"Oooh, wait!" Booth practically leapt out of his seat in his enthusiasm. "You can't forget the syrup. Parker loves this stuff." He struggled for a moment with the seal on the new bottle.

"Blueberry?"

He finally managed to get it open. "Yeah, I have no idea who came up with it, but they're sheer genius." Booth leaned over and completely doused the pile of pancakes on her plate with the sticky, bluish-brown liquid, then did the same with his own.

"That's a _lot_ of sugar, Booth," Brennan raised an eyebrow at the food before her.

"Yes it is," he replied with a subtle hint of boyish glee. "Okay, _now_ you can dig in."

They each took a bite. Brennan's eyebrows went up again, now in surprise, "Huh, not bad."

Booth nodded, apparently unable to speak through a mouthful of pancakes and sausage.

She took a few more bites and said, "It's still way too sweet, though. No wonder Parker's so energetic. All this sugar? I can already feel the rush." Brennan did feel a rush, but after several minutes, it didn't seem much like sugar. It had begun to burn and her stomach began to quiver. She put down her fork and pushed back her chair. "I'm just going to go to the bathroom."

Booth looked up at her, eyes far too energetic for this hour of the morning. "You alright?"

"Yeah, I think I might have been eating too fast. I'm... not feeling so well."

Booth watched in concern as his partner disappeared down the hall and decided to let her have a few minutes to herself. These pancakes were really good, he thought as he shoveled more into his mouth. He must have been eating too quickly though, because he was beginning to notice a bit of a headache. It wasn't until his stomach gave a sudden wrench of pain that his limbs stopped dead.

_No. No, it couldn't be,_ he thought to himself. A dizzy spell was beginning to surround his head and as his stomach continued to twist he couldn't deny it anymore. He'd felt this before...

Booth looked around with speed and stepped carefully toward his cell phone on the counter. He moved to hit speed dial 2, but his now uncoordinated digits accidentally pressed 1 and his phone flashed "BONES" on its face. A curse escaped his lips as he hit the end call button and more carefully pressed 2. "FBI DISPATCH" appeared on the screen.

"This is Special Agent Seeley Booth. I believe my partner and I have been poisoned. We're at my home," his speech slowed as he forced his feet in the direction of the bathroom. "I'm recognizing symptoms of arsenic ingestion." The phone slipped from his hand and crashed to the floor halfway down the hall while he moved onward, stomach lurching painfully.

_Gotta get to Bones. Gotta stay awake._

He pushed open the door to find his partner, pale-faced, bent over the toilet. She looked up at him from the pancakes and blood with red sparkling eyes and pleaded weakly, "Booth..."

Suddenly, her body began to spasm and her head began to fall toward the edge of the bathtub. Booth was surprised how quickly his hindered body had caught her, but once he was halfway to the floor, he wasn't able to stop himself and his shoulder rammed into the side of the bath like a freight train.

_Gotta stay awake til they get here._

He shifted until he was seated against the bathtub and held Brennan's seizing frame to his body. At least she couldn't hit her head again this way. Booth's stomach churned and he turned his head to vomit into the tub behind him as she shook in his arms.

_Blood. This is not good. Gotta stay awake._

She slowly stilled. Though she didn't regain consciousness immediately, her lungs were heaving, and her voice made the most horrifyingly pained sounds that had ever reached Booth's ears. As carefully as his crippled arms could manage, he turned her so that she leaned perpendicular into him, with her shoulder in his chest. As she rotated, her head moved limply, hanging oddly like a bobble head pulled off its spring. She gurgled and coughed blood onto his shirt and he wiped it from her mouth, clearing her airway while fear threatened to overtake him.

_Gotta stay awake._ He willed back the shadowy veil that was beginning to fall over his eyes and focused on his partner. _Gotta stay awake. Gotta keep Bones breathing._

It appeared that she'd regained just a bit of consciousness, and she began to murmur in a tone Booth had never heard from her. It was quiet and low and shaking with fear, and all he could discern was his own name muttered over and over again. He tightened his arms around her.

Just as he was about to try to speak to her, his stomach unexpectedly lurched again and he turned his head once again to vomit violently. It felt as though he were retching all of his innards out. His mind threatened to follow.

_No. Gotta stay awake. Gotta keep Bones alive._

His head was getting heavier than he could hold and he let it fall down near his partner's ear. Now words came in response to her own frightened utterance, whispered words of comfort in his low frail voice. "They're on their way. Help will be here soon. Just stay with me, Bones. Stay with me, Bones. Stay with me."

It was his new mantra to remain conscious, chanting comfort in her ear while his mind prayed for deliverance. It was all he could do.

Distantly, he heard his front door being kicked in. _Thank God._ "They're here, Bones. It'll be alright."

When the paramedics filled the frame of his bathroom door, he found himself unable to raise his head and the last thing he saw was his partner's dreadfully pale face leaning against his chest before blackness engulfed him.

* * *

_see what too much sugar gets you? poisoned. trouble came quicker than you thought? yeah, we don't mess around here._

_having never actually been poisoned myself, and having limited knowledge of it, i'm taking what i assume are some liberties with timing of the symptoms. (also selectively avoiding a few of the symptoms of arsenic poisoning)_

_we will get back to fluff and to smut as well eventually and ultimately (note the title of the story!) ...okay we'll actually get back there dare i say soon, but i did list this story as partly drama for a reason._

_reviews make me happy, and when i'm happy, i write faster! so click the button and tell me what you think!  
_


	3. Get Up

_i couldn't help but bust out just a LITTLE bit of hodgela smut. i love those two nearly as much as our main pair. b&b aren't quite there yet, but i figured we might enjoy some contrast to the last chapter. see, i'm not THAT cruel._

_mad props and thanks to Tom's gg for her brainstorming help. she's got some spectacular stuff, you should really check it out if you haven't already._

_and now to see what became of our heroes..._

* * *

_Get up,_ a voice spoke in the dark. It wafted in from the ethos.

No. Booth remained stubbornly still. His limbs had turned to lead and he didn't feel any particular need to try to rouse himself.

_Get up,_ commanded the voice again.

I'm tired. Leave me alone.

_Get up._

He ignored it and embraced ignorance.

_Bones needs you._

With startling vividness, memory flooded his senses and Booth's eyes shot open. "Bones," he spoke in a panic.

His mind was back in his bathroom, close to death with his partner and it took a few moments to process the new location. A hospital room. That's right, the paramedics had arrived just as he was losing consciousness. He was clearly alive, not even in ICU, but where was his partner?

From his right came a snort and a shuffling sound. Hodgins had been dozing in a chair, arms across his chest and head slumped forward, but his friend's speech had stirred him.

"Booth, you're awake. How are you feeling?"

"Where's Bones?"

"Two doors down." Hodgins spoke quickly to arrest the panic written plainly across the pale face before him, "She's alright, man."

Booth exhaled and relaxed slightly.

"I mean, she's not dancing or anything, but you two are out of the woods. I'd say she's doing about as well as can be expected after being cracked in the head and poisoned. Angela's sitting with her now. Incidentally, and just so you can't say I didn't warn you" he leaned forward in his chair, "Angie was _livid_ when she found out you hadn't called after Brennan's initial injury."

Sitting in the hospital bed, he found his brain was taking just a little longer than normal to wind up to speed. He sat quiet for a few moments. "Temperance Brennan is stubborn. How did you two hear anyway?"

"Cam called and we hopped the next flight back. Haven't slept in about 36 hours actually. You'd think that sitting on a plane doing nothing would be a perfect opportunity to rest up for when the chaos inevitably hit, but Ange was completely beside herself."

A puzzled look covered Booth's face while he passed a few more seconds in thought. "How'd Cam find out?"

"Are you kidding? The top two homicide investigators for the FBI are simultaneously poisoned and they _don't_ have people scouring the city trying to find out what happened?"

Sun shone in the window across from him. "What time... how long have we been out?"

"About a day and a half. It's Sunday at," Hodgins glanced at his watch, "about five."

"I want to see her."

"I dunno, man, you're not in a good way yourself. It's a good thing they were able to start treatment for the arsenic right away." Hodgins finally asked the question he'd clearly been dying to know, "How'd you know that's what it was? I find it unlikely that you keep materials on hand at your place to test for that kind of thing."

"I've had arsenic poisoning before," Booth stated, looking into his eyes for the first time. "It's rather distinctive."

Hodgins nodded. "And you had metallothionines..." he quickly clarified when he caught Booth's weak but intimidating glare, "enzymes in your system to counter the poison, so you had time to call for help. Thank God."

Booth chuckled mirthlessly at the irony, "Yeah. Thank God." His memories slid once more before him and he saw Brennan's blue eyes looking up at him, so bloodshot, wretched and frightened. She hadn't had any resistance built up from prior experiences, and she'd had a head injury and a load of medications running through her system. His heart leapt up into his throat again unbidden.

"I want to see her," he repeated himself and started trying to pull himself out of his bed. His limbs didn't want to cooperate, but his mind was determined.

Hodgins stood, shaking his head and half-smiling. "You're a tough old bastard, you know that? Stay put, I'll talk to the doctor," he put a hand on Booth's shoulder as though to anchor him to the bed and Booth let himself fall back to the pillows heavily.

* * *

She didn't remember it happening, but at some point her eyes must have opened. A room wavered precariously before her. It was strange and she couldn't quite process where she was. All she was truly certain of was that her body was protesting most avidly about something; she did not feel well. A groan escaped her lips. She was vaguely aware that her head was throbbing painfully and when she tried to raise her hands they responded very weakly and wouldn't lift as commanded.

Without any warning, two faces appeared next to her and her body responded to the shock by jumping weakly. They threw words in her direction, ones she couldn't wrap her head around. _Brennan. Sweetie. Feeling. Happened. _She looked away from the faces and emitted another moan.

Then there was another face next to her. She still couldn't place it, but it felt somehow familiar. She couldn't understand what it was saying at first, but the words were soothing. In the absence of anything else to go on, she focused on the new face and tried to think. There must be some context for her current situation. If the face was familiar, there must be some memory of it hidden in her pounding skull. She looked at it confusedly for a moment.

Booth. The name came to her mind before the recollection of him.

"Booth."

He was... he was her partner. Right.

Booth smiled gently and spoke, "That's me. How you feeling, babe?"

Brennan's mind still reeled. "What's... what's going on? Where? I don't..."

"We're in the hospital, Bones. We were poisoned. Do you remember?"

Hospital. What was that? Oh, right, a place where people went when they were ill or hurt. It occurred to her that it wasn't a place you wanted to have to be in. Did she remember? She tried to think about what had come before the hospital.

Suddenly images and memories flooded in. Blood and vomit and intense pain. The feeling of death coming, and shaking and weakness. Booth's shoulder and his voice being unable to wipe away the fear. Her eyes flew wide and she shook as though trying to erase the memory of the bathroom and recoiled into her pillow.

Then his hand was in her hair, rubbing gently at her scalp. "Shhh... it's over. You're going to be okay. This feeling will pass."

It would have to pass without her, because she lapsed back into darkness.

* * *

It did pass, and the next time she opened her eyes, Booth wasn't there, but her mind was.

She turned her head and spoke softly, "Ange."

"Bren, you're awake," her friend spoke as she leapt to her feet. "How are you feeling?"

"Ugh, much better than before," Brennan replied. "I can think properly, for one thing."

"Good," Angela replied, very relieved. "It was horrifying watching you so lost. Thank God Booth was here for you to latch onto."

"Booth. Where is he? Is he alright?"

"Yes, sweetie, he's fine. He's a hell of a lot better than you, I guess he'd been poisoned before so it didn't hit him as hard. He's resting now down the hall."

After a little prodding, Angela spilled everything she knew. Their trips to the hospital, Cam's nervous call, the investigation that was underway, and her and Hodgins' return trip.

"When you're feeling better, I'm going to be really angry at you for not calling me after you hit your head."

"I was fine, there was no need to interrupt your vacation."

"Sweetie, you still should have let me know," she spoke patiently. "If you were alright, which it sounds like you were, and Booth was around to take care of you, which he was, I wouldn't necessarily need to run home." Besides, returning too soon would have denied her friend of some much needed alone time with that hunk of an FBI partner of hers, she added silently. "Speaking of which, I must hear details about that night."

Brennan rolled her eyes, "Okay, but not too much right now, talking makes my head hurt." When Angela gave her a look that cried 'well, give me something' she continued, "We did wind up sleeping in the same bed. He gives very relaxing head massages and he's just so _warm_." Brennan smiled wistfully and looked out the window.

Angela laughed in awe, "I haven't seen you look that content in a _long_ time. And you're just remembering it. _And_ you didn't even get your rocks off."

Her eyes once again spun to the ceiling, but she confessed, "I don't know what to think about it just now. But tell me about your trip."

Angela decided to let her change of subject go for the time being. "It was wonderful. Have you ever been to Thailand?"

"I spent a few weeks identifying Karen genocide victims in Burma a few years back."

"Yeah," Angela scrunched up her face. "Bit of a different experience I expect."

Brennan decided it wasn't the time for Southeast Asian politics. "What's it like?"

She smiled contentedly. "It's absolutely beautiful. The feel of the place is just so relaxed, it feels like the country has an absurdly low heart rate and breathes slower. No sweetie," she interrupted Brennan before she'd even interjected, "I don't mean the people, I mean the place. It has _character._ Jack rented a little bungalow on an isolated beach, no one around for miles. The sand is so white and the water's clearer than the air here. For the first few days it was nothing but swimming and sunbathing and long, languorous lovemaking on the patio." She paused for a minute and Brennan couldn't bring herself to interrupt the smile that played across her face.

Angela's mind wandered briefly back to the bungalow where they'd laid spooning and half-dozing after some nude sunbathing on a large recliner on the deck. Jack's hands had wandered over her front, caressing her breasts, roaming her curves and dipping between her legs. They hadn't spoken, but their breathing was audible as he slid inside her. Slowly, smoothly, they'd rocked together and he'd pressed soft kisses into the back of her neck. Her orgasm came over her gradually like a delicate wind that swelled to life and she'd arched her back as she exhaled her peak. He followed shortly behind her and pulled a nearby sheet over them as they faded into sweet sleep.

She took a deep breath and moaned slightly, "I highly recommend it."

"Presumably with a different partner though," Brennan's head tipped to the side and she smiled.

"Yeah. It's odd, I never was before, but I'm becoming a little bit territorial."

"I'm told that's relatively common among engaged persons," Brennan spoke clinically.

Angela looked at her with an expression of mock horror. "Maybe I'm growing as a human being."

"Growing, succumbing to societal expectations... whatever. So long as you're happy."

"Oh, I am," Angela ignored her anthropological jab and flashed her eyebrows.

Brennan laughed in awe. "So, did you two get out at all?"

She unfolded her story about traveling to less touristy areas and visiting some local haunts. Hodgins had apparently been in heaven when it came to bugs served as snacks and Angela had invested in some new flowing, long sleeved shirts and skirts so they could visit the towns and temples without offending anyone. She indicated the gorgeous wrap top she wore. Skirts were apparently also handy when they decided to slip off to some well-secluded locations.

"Jack has a very talented mouth," she confided.

"Oh," Brennan imagined he would probably be a good kisser. Wait a minute, _"Oh."_

"Hoo!" she shivered. "I hadn't come that hard in weeks."

As odd as it was to hear about her coworker in such a manner, Brennan was secretly glad she had a friend with whom she could share her sexual exploits. "Where is Hodgins anyway?"

A low voice spoke from the doorway, "Was with me, but he just left for the lab so he'd be there when the evidence arrives." Booth sat in hospital garb and rolled himself into the room in a wheelchair. "I called this morning and had the FBI forensics lab send our breakfast over." If he'd entered moments earlier than it sounded like he had, he didn't betray hearing anything they'd been talking about.

"Booth? A wheelchair?" asked Brennan concernedly.

"Yeah, I'm all good, but the doctor threw a fit when I walked over here yesterday without even consulting with her. So I figure this keeps everyone happy." He dipped his head and looked up at her. "Glad to see you're feeling better."

"Much," she admitted. "Head still hurts though. How about you?"

"I'm restless," he said with an air of frustration. "I should be out there tracking down whoever did this to us."

Angela spoke up, "It sounds like your FBI is on it though, and Jack'll find anything that can be found in the evidence. Besides, you'd just be standing over his shoulder irritating him, and I don't need you undoing all of the _hard work_ that went into relaxing him." She waggled her eyebrows with a broad grin.

"Alrighty!" Booth spoke loudly to end the current direction of the conversation and Brennan shot a knowing smile at her. "I suppose it is better than I'm here to keep an eye on you," he said.

Brennan groaned, "I don't need to be looked after, Booth."

"Someone tried to kill us, Bones. I'm not letting you out of my sight."

"Technically, someone tried to kill _you_. I just happened to be there, assuming the poison was in our breakfast."

"Well we did have dinner together the night before, and lunch." He paused, "And breakfast Friday too, come to think of it."

Angela held in her laugh, but couldn't suppress a smile that went unnoticed by the other two. She and her fiance didn't even eat together as often as these two.

* * *

_so do tell, does the whole jumping between different people's points of view get confusing for anyone? it feels more natural when i'm writing, but i don't know if it interrupts the flow of the story for the audience._

_please click the button! click the button, leave me some love and tell me what you think!_


	4. Released

_all you fluffies i scared away in ch 2 can come back now._

_this is apparently the longest chapter yet. i won't be posting as often as the rapid fire of the first three chapters, (work, you know) but it appears i'll be making each chapter relatively balanced when it comes to the smuff/drama/mystery components. i'm shooting at posting at least one chapter a week til this one's done._

_and now, back to the fun. not, like, poison pancakes fun, a little more like waking-up-in-the-hospital fun, but with more investigation and SMUFF (smutty fluff, or fluffy smut, take your choice). warning for those of you underage folks who still managed to click on an M-rated story, that means stuff you're not allowed to read. go watch pokemon or power rangers or whatever's on the tube these days._

* * *

As irritated as Brennan was with Booth's insistence on being the protective alpha, she was grateful for his company when Angela had to go back to work to help with the investigation. They spent the three days they were stuck in the hospital in conversation, argument, and many games of snap. Not to mention the whole host of other non-gambling card games Booth decided that she needed to learn. Before even the first day was spent, the two of them had thoroughly broken in the deck of cards Angela had retrieved from the gift shop before leaving.

By the time they were set to be released on Thursday evening, and after much heated debate, the partners had finally agreed that Booth would stay in Brennan's spare bedroom, as his place was still under lockdown, and, though neither admitted it, they didn't particularly want to be alone while a psycho murderer was after them.

Hodgins approached Booth's room. The agent was sitting in bed, flipping through channels on the television and Dr. Brennan had pulled up a chair beside him, nose buried in a book. After realizing that the clothing they had worn when admitted had been confiscated as evidence, Brennan had arranged with Angela to pick up a change of clothes for her, and she now sat in a pair of comfortable jeans and her oversized Northwestern University shirt her friend had dropped off that morning.

Hodgins poked his head inside. "You two ready to get out of here?"

"Yes," they answered simultaneously. Booth clicked off the TV and Brennan closed her book with a clap.

"If I never smell the hospital plastic odor that permeates this place again, I will have led a happy life," Booth said while throwing the bleached white sheets off of him with such vigor that they didn't stop til they'd reached the floor by Brennan's sandals.

As he watched Booth slide to his feet, Hodgins shuffled nervously. "Hey man, I tried to get some clothes for you, but your pad is still a crime scene and they wouldn't let me take anything."

The agent looked like after nearly a week in the hospital, his patience was wearing thin. He leaned toward him and spoke with a glare through his half squinted eyes, "So you're telling me that I have no clothes?"

"Well, I snagged some sweatpants and a tee from the gift shop downstairs," Hodgins said hesitantly as he reached into the bag at his side and pulled out a stiff and uncomfortable-looking shirt that said, in glaring letters, _Hottest Chick in DC_. "Sorry man, it was this or _Future Mom._"

Booth glanced over at his partner and said, "You know, this looks a little tight. It might fit you better."

"Ohhh no," Brennan stated with just a hint of a smirk. "You poisoned me. You're out of luck."

Booth scowled. He snatched what he was certain he would be teased about for ages to come roughly and pulled it over his head. "You, Hodgins, are _damn_ lucky I don't have my gun."

"You were going to shoot your ride? Come on, man. That's just bad form."

* * *

After a hefty pile of paperwork had been signed, the three of them sunk into the lavishly comfortable seats in Hodgins' shiny two-tone-roofed crossover.

"I didn't know Ford made anything like this."

"They don't," Hodgins said. He quickly added, "Well, at least not yet. This is a bit of a prototype. It's got a few hiccups, and the features are still pretty limited, but they like having the feedback. Kinda like beta testing for cars."

Booth took a deep breath. Patience. Hodgins was (he shuddered)_ privileged_, but in the end he was a pretty cool guy. Change the subject so you don't need to use anger management techniques, he told himself.

"So, now that we're on the outside, tell us what you know about the evidence."

"You make it sound like we were in prison, Booth," said Brennan defensively.

"We might as well have been." He turned back to Hodgins. "Anything?"

"I was able to confirm it was arsenic. Pretty pure form too, I'm still checking for any additional chemicals or particulates in the syrup."

"The syrup," Booth groaned.

"I told you too much sugar was bad for you, Booth."

"It wasn't the sugar, it was the poison."

She argued lightly, "But I got a rush before it happened."

"Again, the poison."

Becoming somewhat frustrated, she stared at him and spoke forcefully, "How do _you_ know so much about arsenic?"

Booth didn't reply to her. "You squints find anything else at the scene?"

"You mean, at your apartment? Yeah, you could probably handle having a maid come by every once in a while. I mean, some of the surfaces in there are absolutely teeming with bacteria."

"You shouldn't be snooping around my place. And, you know," he spoke haltingly, "not all of us have estates with servants at their beck and call."

"Actually, they prefer the term..."

"Did you find anything related to the actual case?" Booth interrupted irritably.

"Not much yet." He paused before continuing, "Have you or any guests been spending time in factories lately?"

"Not to my knowledge. Why?"

"I found faint footprints on the floor near the fridge that suggest a visitor who'd very recently spent some time in a production facility."

"You mean to tell me that someone snuck into my place?" demanded Booth.

"To slip poison into the syrup? Maybe," Hodgins conceded.

Something in Brennan's mind struck a foul chord before she chimed in, "But it was a new bottle." She turned to Booth. "I watched you unwrap it."

"Could it have come poisoned from the store?" pondered Booth.

"Ehh. There haven't been any similar cases of poisoning in the area recently, I checked, which makes me think it was an isolated occurrence."

Her blood ran slightly cold. "In that case, the most likely scenario is that the intruder came in and switched bottles."

Booth spoke out loud, but only just, "I only got that bottle last Friday. It went into the fridge just as Bones and I got home."

"Meaning someone snuck in while we were there?" Brennan's tone now had a positively icy air. "If they could sneak in, why didn't they just kill us in our sleep? Shoot us or stab us?"

"Would have given us more evidence to go on from the wounds," Hodgins pondered.

"Yeah, that'd be great, except for the _being dead__ to study our bones_ part," replied Booth sharply.

Hodgins shifted uneasily. "What if he chose poison specifically _because_ it's not our specialty?"

"Well that's a hefty amount of speculation." Brennan noted, "But it'd mean that he'd have to know us well enough to know what we're best at."

"You thinking inside job? I like it." Hodgins smiled conspiratorially.

Booth's voice pierced the interior of the car, "Again, aside from the trying to kill us part." He contemplated for a moment, brow furrowed. "What's more disturbing to me is that this guy is somehow close enough to know what kind of syrup I buy. The kind of food I serve regularly to _Parker."_

The three of them sat in uneasy silence the rest of the way back to Dr. Brennan's apartment.

* * *

Angela had dinner ready for them when they arrived. She'd emptied Brennan's cupboards just to be safe and restocked her on some of the basics after she left work that day. Thankfully, Angela had also kept to the basics when it came to dinner. Brennan's best friend was a good many things, but a talented cook was not one of them. The four of them ate the spaghetti she'd prepared in easy conversation, which never once turned to work or -- Booth was glad to notice -- to his 'hot chick' shirt.

"So, Bones," Booth said while drying the recently departed Hodgins' glass and returning it to the cupboard, "you wouldn't happen to have a really big shirt to replace this manly thing I've been tortured with all evening, would you?"

She paused with her mouth open, looking like she was searching her memory for a second and then spoke, half-surprised, "Actually, I think I've got an appropriately-sized actual man's shirt you can wear." When she beckoned for him to follow, Booth trailed her down the hallway, pulling testily at the collar of the tight, and apparently glittery shirt to which he'd been subjected. Somehow he was certain that it would infest his hair for at least a month.

He was so busy growling inwardly he didn't even notice he'd entered her bedroom for the first time until she'd disappeared into the closet. The space wasn't what he'd expected. He'd thought it would be practical and spartan, possibly lined with bookshelves like the rest of her apartment, but he found himself in a room full of cozy-looking pillows and soft colors. There were even a few stuffed animals on a chair next to the bed and -- he smiled when he saw it -- a small plastic pig on the bedside table. A rustling noise returned his attention to the matter at hand and he spoke amusedly, "You make a habit of keeping mens' shirts in your closet?"

"Well, I never know when I'll have an FBI agent over needing clothes."

She'd been referring to Booth, but too late she recalled that he was not the only FBI agent she'd had stay at her apartment. Sully had left a few items at her place when he'd left on his cruise. Whether it had been accidental she had never determined, but she'd gotten rid of them in short order. He was gone and there was no practical reason to keep them around.

"One of Sully's?" Booth asked somberly, mood effectively squashed.

"Nope," she dug for three seconds more before emerging with a black tee that looked strangely familiar.

Booth's face suddenly lifted again, "I was wondering what I did with that shirt."

"Do you remember that night I made you mac and cheese and you spilled beer all over yourself?" she asked pointedly.

"That was intentional," Booth mock-grumbled.

The corner of her mouth twitched upward and she continued, "You had a spare shirt in your car, but you left this one here. I washed it and was going to bring it in, but I kept forgetting and I guess it worked its way to the back of my closet." It was true that she'd forgotten about it, but she hadn't made a particularly strong effort to remember. She was fairly certain it wasn't going to be the last time he spilled on his shirt at her place, and what would he do if he didn't have a spare shirt then? Wander around without? Her interior monologue stopped briefly as the image popped tantalizingly into her mind. She shook her head to restart it.

"Thanks, Bones," he smiled gratefully and took the shirt she'd extended toward him, leaving her sweet-smelling bedroom and heading to the bathroom to change. It struck him that there was something astoundingly intimate about unexpectedly having a shirt of his at her place. Especially one that had lived for the better part of a year in an offshoot of that decidedly feminine bedroom.

When he emerged, much more comfortable, his partner had changed into pajamas herself. "I am far too tired for someone who's spent the last several days sleeping and lounging around."

"Oh come on, you can't actually _rest_ at a hospital. They want you to think you can, but it's scientifically impossible."

"What research do you have to suggest that it's _scientifically impossible_? Hospitals are set up to be places of rest and recovery," Brennan countered skeptically.

He rolled his eyes. "Right, never use that expression with a squint present," he reminded himself aloud. "What I'm saying, Bones, is that there's more to relaxing than just being able to sleep. There's a reason we have our own homes set up the way we like. We need to be able to relax emotionally and spiritually as much as physically."

"I can relax at the lab," Brennan argued.

"To an extent, yes, you probably can, but again the lab is your domain. Part of what you are is embedded in that place, it's a safe haven for you. Well, except for the homicidal equipment," Booth paused. "And the occasional exploding experiments..." He scrunched up his face, "And the serial killers sneaking in body parts... you know what, it's not that safe. But my point is that it's home for you. And home is where you go to recoup."

Brennan contemplated his words. "There's also no privacy in hospitals."

He nodded deep once, hand gesturing toward her, and said bluntly, "That too."

"Hey Booth, do you think you could do that thing with your fingers?"

For a split second, Booth felt disoriented. The conversation had gone abruptly from 'privacy' to 'that thing with your fingers,' which was a request he'd heard before, but never in this context, and never with Bones, regardless of what fantasies had graced his dreams.

"The cranial massage," she clarified when he failed to respond.

"Oh!" he said, surprised. _Oh_, disappointed. "Yeah, sure thing." He recovered quickly, "Your head still hurt?"

"Yeah," she squinted a bit as she ran her fingers over her temples. "I don't really want to take more pain killers if I don't have to. My system has taken quite a hit with the foreign chemicals lately and I'd like to keep it to a minimum."

"I have to warn you, I'm pretty tired myself, and it's a bit of a zen-like meditation doing the massage. I can't promise I won't fall asleep with you again."

"I am prepared to make that sacrifice," she smirked, body remembering how warm he was the last time.

Fifteen minutes later, Booth found himself propped up in his partner's bed, fingers working through her soft hair. When he'd said it was zen-like for him, he wasn't kidding. The repetitive motion was calming, and he had a suspicion that there was some kind of peaceful energy put out by the person receiving the massage that touched everything nearby. Her head had begun to wobble sleepily and the muscles of her back loosened noticeably against his legs. After a few more moments, he carefully laid her down.

The slumberous voice beside him spoke with an audible grin, "Goodnight, _hottie_."

* * *

Her feet stepped lightly over the grass in the cemetery. Booth had always pointed out that she shouldn't step above where the coffins were buried. It was foolish, but she modified her path anyway. Suddenly, though the grass beneath her feet remained the same, she was walking in a large park, the headstones had vanished and there were ducks, all in a row, waddling across her path toward a pond in the distance. She felt the urge to follow them, but her feet had a different idea and they kept walking straight of their own accord. Before long she saw her destination. The Tahoe sat on the side of a road, passenger side toward her, calling her name. When she arrived, instead of opening the front door, she pulled the handle to the back seat.

Inside, in a terribly sexy pair of jeans and a well-fitted t-shirt, sat Booth. He looked at her with a wide smile and eyebrow flash and beckoned to her. Placing her left knee on the seat beside him, she swung the other over him without hesitation and straddled his lap, arms falling into place at the back of his head, fingers threading through his messy hair. As though it were the most natural thing in the world their lips met, characteristically battling for dominance, trying to give more pleasure than they were receiving.

Next thing she knew there was nothing between them but air. Lips barely brushing in teasingly soft kisses, Booth's long hard body was pressed between her bare skin and the seat as he ran the tip of his cock along her folds. The smoothness of his head felt good sliding across the sensitive skin and, ohhh, was she wet. Muscles inside her twitched and clenched in anticipation. He drew himself to her center and pressed only just enough to part her lips and access her dewy sweetness with his tip. He swirled it around, moving ever closer to truly entering her and stimulating every nerve ending she had. Finally, in torturous frustration, she bit his lower lip with a growl and the two sent simultaneous thrusts toward each other. He was filling her, wresting a moan from her lips. And she was pressing in on him, so warm and soft.

They moved together, stroking his shaft, caressing her sensitive depths. Their breathing rolled together like waves. In and out the air moved without regard for their supposed control over their lungs. Both their bodies sported a fine dew of sweat which their roaming hands smoothed into continuous oceans of pleasure. His fingers pressed patterns into the skin of her back as she slid her body against his strong, lean torso which seemed to go on for miles, endless stretches of skin to press to her own. He nipped at her neck and began suckling her jaw line. Her head fell back helplessly to allow him better access.

The moans she emitted were delicate and smooth, trickling from her throat as he lifted his hips up to meet hers. She matched him thrust for thrust and her vocalizations became louder. At some point she realized that he was watching her intently as they stirred torturously and she returned his gaze. His dark eyes didn't blink and didn't look away. In them, she felt she could see the driving lust and something else, some unknown look she couldn't place. An expression on the face of her partner that she felt was somehow familiar.

When her own blue eyes delved deep into his, his thrusts came harder, faster, more powerful. They drew from her a low wail, "Ohhhh Boooth..." The sound seeped into her pores, it tingled for a moment and unexpectedly exploded as every part of her body clenched around him. He slid within her for several moments more, which felt like days within her drawn-out release, before coming with her with a jolt. Her head moved to his neck while they breathed together and she felt his lips press into her hair.

"Bones," he said sweetly as she drifted into deep sleep.

* * *

He never would have guessed that Temperance Brennan, PhD would be a cuddler. He'd never considered her cold, not even at the beginning of their partnership when she was snide and harsh with him. Certainly, she was passionate about her work, and she'd been passionate in her dislike of him. Her contempt was anything but cold. But it was undeniable that she was fiercely independent and he figured that a woman like that would be one to steal the covers and curl up on her own side of the bed, claiming her space. Turned out that part of it was true, she was claiming her own space right then. It just so happened that her space included him.

She was sprawled half over his body and her head rested on his shoulder, tilted up into his neck as she breathed in a near inaudible snore. She hadn't started the night that way, of course. After her head massage, he'd slowly released her down to the mattress next to him, half asleep himself, and he'd left his arm under her head where it fell. But some unknown stimulus had woken him and he found himself jumbled up in his partner's arms and legs.

After a moment of amazement at their current position, his mind snapped back to wondering what had woken him. Was there an intruder in Bones' apartment? Was he right now replacing some item in her refrigerator? Or rigging it with a bomb like Agent Kenton had done two years ago? Perhaps he was creeping toward the bedroom right then, gun cocked. He was about to reluctantly disentangle himself from Bones and investigate when he heard it again, and instantly knew what had woken him.

She mumbled against him. He chuckled silently. Of course Bones would be one to talk in her sleep. She couldn't stop talking when she was awake, he thought affectionately. And she had spoken in the space between awake and asleep both nights they'd spent together. But it wasn't long before he realized she wasn't just talking.

She was moaning, and not it was most _definitely_ not from discomfort.

Over the course of a minute, into his neck she whimpered, swore, cried all in a sleepy mumble. His mind registered the astoundingly erotic nature of his partner's subconscious manifesting a sex dream in his arms and his anatomy couldn't help but respond. He certainly wouldn't do anything about his reaction, but waking her and suggesting she cease her noisily pleasant dream was something he couldn't bring himself to do either. The responsible part of Booth tried to convince himself that it was to keep her from embarrassment at the situation, which was true, but he didn't particularly want to remove himself from what would join the ranks of his top fantasies of all time.

Her breath steamed hot into the skin of his neck and Booth found it truly difficult to not respond in some way. With great effort, he forced the arms around her to remain still. When she started to sob softly, her body tightened and she shuddered suddenly, moaning "Ohhhh Boooth..."

Booth was very glad that she was not laying between his legs like last Friday night, because he was certain he would have woken her with the half-mast erection that had sprung to full attention.

His eyes had shot wide open. He'd heard women talk in their sleep before, he'd even heard a subconscious sexy moan or two, but never had he heard his name spoken in conjunction with said moans. And surely not with such passionate noises as the ones she'd made. In the course of a week, he'd heard her mutter his name in pain and in ecstasy. And at the moment he could think of no word in the English language he liked better than his name from her lips. Well, actually his name came second.

He placed a tender kiss on the top of her head and whispered the reigning champion softly.

"Bones."

* * *

_oh smuff! and who is after our favorite pair? now you KNOW you want to leave me love (and reviews). click click click! i'll write the next chapter faster if you do!_


	5. Back to Work

The first thing that crossed her consciousness was a nice long _ahhhhh_. Brennan stretched and inhaled deeply, opening her eyes to the sweet morning light filtering in the window. The firm, cozy chest beneath her expanded and fell slowly, inviting her to join the natural pace. She matched her breath to his before running her chin up along his body and looked up into the sleeping face of her partner. For the second time in a week she regarded his relaxed features and smiled.

All the same, she figured it wouldn't be a good habit to linger for too long in his all-too-comfortable arms. It wouldn't do to let her mind get used to anything other than the platonic and professional nature of their relationship. She had a feeling that if she didn't move now, she never would. And they had that line. As long as it existed, she shouldn't tease herself about what was impossible. But she had the nagging feeling that there was something she was missing.

She somehow extracted herself without waking him, which was quite a task considering that even in sleep his heavy arms were wrapped tightly around her, and made her way down the hall to the kitchen.

_First order of business,_ she thought, _coffee_. Grounds were added to the gold screen filter, water poured into the reservoir, start button pushed. She breathed in the aroma that began to fill the kitchen. Setting about making breakfast, Brennan spent several minutes locating pans in her cupboards and hunted for her cutting board. She didn't cook a lot, making it difficult enough to find what she wanted, and it appeared that Angela had reorganized a number of the shelves. She found, however, that she was too relaxed to be irked by it and enjoyed the leisurely pace she took examining her own cupboards. She was so in tune with the quietly mellow activity that when she turned back toward the doorway, she jumped at the figure standing there, looking far too attractive for this hour in sweats and a black t-shirt.

_Good morning._

"God, Booth! I know you're trained for stealth and all that, but that doesn't mean you have to sneak up on me."

"Sorry," he began to speak in a cheesy Bullwinkle voice, "guess I don't know my own strength."

"Actually, stealth doesn't have anything to do with strength. It's a function of..."

"It's an expression, Bones," he interrupted, laughing, as he stepped to the coffeemaker. _First thing in the morning and she's already analyzing._ "Aww, still brewing?"

"Yes, but it's got a mechanism to pause the drip if you want to pour yourself a cup before it's done. Mugs are just there above you," she added, "assuming Angela hasn't moved them."

Booth opened the cabinet, located and pulled out a geometrically-patterned glazed mug. _Probably a gift from the head of some Berber tribe,_ he chuckled to himself and filled it to the brim. "Ah, sweet nectar of life."

"Nothing like waking up to pleasant smells, eh?"

He'd actually not woken up to the smell. He'd woken up with the feeling that something was missing. The coffee had merely lured him from bed to locate her. "Like pancakes?" he quipped.

"Yes, well it was a nice way to wake up at first. It was the part that came after that was less than pleasant. But we will definitely not be having pancakes this morning. For one thing, I don't make a habit of keeping sugar-rush-in-a-bottle on hand." She opened her fridge to survey her stock of food. _Dammit, Angela. _"Okay, apparently now I do."

"No pancakes," Booth agreed.

"Eggs?"

"Sure. Sounds great." As Brennan crouched in front of the open refrigerator and reached inside, her tank top pulled up an inch, revealing a stretch of smooth lower back, and suddenly the events of the previous night burst vibrantly to the front of Booth's mind. _How had that not sprung instantly to mind this morning? How had he not spent the entire night dreaming about it?_ "So," he spoke casually, "how'd you sleep?"

"Very well," she replied enthusiastically. "I woke up completely refreshed. My head doesn't hurt nearly so badly now, just a twinge now and then. Maybe there is something to that theory of yours about only being able to rest well at home." Brennan placed a carton of eggs on the counter and continued to delve through the depths of her fridge. "I think I had a dream."

Booth stopped mid sip, mug frozen in time at his mouth.

Her voice was muffled as she spoke into the fridge, "I don't remember it, but I think you were there. Something about a park and ducks... no, I really can't remember any more than that, but it was very soothing. Even when you can't remember them, good dreams seem to stay with you, don't you think?"

"Definitely." She didn't remember, he sighed in relief. She had never been that good at lying to him, and he didn't detect any awkwardness in her voice. She'd had all the effects of the dream, but none of the memory.

_She didn't remember, _he sighed. Perhaps it was just as well. Even if something were possible between the two of them, the last thing their working partnership needed was more complications. Like them jumping each other in the middle of the night. And in the morning. And at lunchtime. And in the janitor's closet at the lab, okay, that was enough, he arrested his mind and fought to control the tingling at the junction of his legs.

By the time he had returned to the present, she was standing in front of the cutting board with a pile of tomatoes, bell peppers, onions, potatoes at her side.

"Wow, do you have a garden stowed away in a cabinet somewhere there?"

"Booth, you can't keep a garden in a cabinet."

_"Actually,"_ he took a sip of the hot coffee, "they have those aeroponic growers that you could probably hide away someplace like a cabinet. Built in light and everything."

Brennan looked at him with a slightly surprised look on her face. "You're right. I had no idea you had such an exhaustive knowledge of non-conventional plant propagation methods."

"Come on Bones, the Aerogarden? You can't tell me you haven't seen those infomercials. Oh wait, no TV. Guess you can."

"The technique is extremely efficient, and aeroponically-grown produce has many health benefits that exceed traditionally-grown produce." She chopped away while she continued, "It's better for the environment too, the plants require less water and less energy. Maybe I should check out this Cabinetgarden product."

"Aerogarden. They actually market it for your kitchen _counter_, but whatever. I still can't believe you haven't seen those commercials."

"No, I tend to spend my time being productive. You know, writing best-selling novels and such rather than _vegging_ in front of the TV." She grinned cheesily. "Get it? We were talking about produce and i said..."

"Yes, Bones, very clever." He rolled his eyes and smiled inwardly. Since when had such bad jokes made him feel so good?

* * *

"Booth, I don't need protection! We don't even know if this person was trying to poison me. It was _your_ apartment they broke into after all, and I don't exactly spend the night there often."

_A shame._ "No, but the break-in happened while you were there. And if he could get in, he probably knew that you were there too."

"It's so imprecise though, Booth. If he, assuming it _is_ a man, which can't really be determined at this juncture, did want to kill us both, how would he know that we would use that syrup? You'd think he would have tried to be more certain that he'd hit his mark."

"Yeah, it is kind of odd," he agreed. "All the same, you're not going anywhere without me or another agent accompanying you."

Brennan decided to leave the argument for the time being, as her head had begun to throb again. _When would the pain stop?_ she wondered, frustrated. She groaned when they drove out of her building and she saw the FBI van across the street.

"We're under surveillance?" she snapped.

"Okay, that wasn't my doing. Cullen is more or less concerned that his favorite homicide investigators were almost homicide victims themselves."

"Favorite? I thought Cullen didn't like me," she looked across to him curiously.

"Well, it would appear his opinion of you improved when we found the people responsible for his daughter's cancer." He met her eyes and seemed to read her mind, "I wouldn't get your hopes up on a gun though."

She scowled and looked forward.

* * *

When he didn't take the turn for the Jeffersonian, Brennan began to protest, but Booth informed her that everyone had been made aware of the upped security situation and assured her that they would be going to the lab after a little bit of business was taken care of at Booth's office.

'A little bit of business' turned out to have been the understatement of the year.

Booth's absence had apparently been a topic of much discussion by the department at large and his reappearance was an event that everyone wanted to be a part of. The entire floor seemed to alter their path to greet him during their between the elevator and Cullen's office, and then from Cullen's office back to Booth's.

A half an hour later, his hockey-plastered walls were finally in sight and they appeared to have a clear path when a short, stout agent stepped in front of them. His brown hair sat precariously on a round, decidedly boyish face.

"Agent Booth! It's good to see you back on your feet. You too, Dr. Brennan." His voice sounded as though it bounced thoroughly around his narrow sinuses before escaping through his mouth.

Brennan noticed Booth's stance stiffen slightly. "Thanks, Charlie. Bones, you remember Agent Burns," he inclined his head, uncertain whether she did actually remember the man who blocked their path.

She reached out her hand and shook his, "Of course. Thank you, it's good to get back to work."

"I got all the information you wanted, Agent Booth. It's on your desk. I'm still poking around on a few additional arsenic leads," Charlie added with an air of eagerness.

"Good work. I'd better get started on that," Booth patted him on the shoulder as he passed and Brennan followed, noticing the very pleased look on Agent Burns' face.

She very nearly bumped into his back when she'd walked through the door to his office. Booth let out a low, rumbling groan. Before them sat his desk, piled high with a half dozen tall stacks of files and papers.

Booth bent his head and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Charlie. He means well, but..." he trailed off. Turning back to her, he said, "I'll drop you off at the Jeffersonian before I get into this."

Secretly glad that she didn't have the security clearance to help him with the mountain of paperwork, she nodded and they headed for his door. "At least he's thorough," Brennan urged.

Booth nodded at the irony of her statement, considering Charlie was the one to find the evidence leading to her father's arrest. It had never come up in conversation. He made a point of that pattern continuing.

Before they could make their escape, another agent had blocked the doorway. Brennan didn't recognize him. He was about the same height as Charlie, but he was a slight man with graying hair. He wore a suit that matched the darker gray hairs springing wiry and unkempt from his head.

His voice was on the higher end and nasally as he said, "Agent Booth, welcome back."

"Thanks, Art. Good to be back." As social as Booth was, and as excited as he'd been to get back to work and track down their would-be murderer, he'd noticeably dulled at the overwhelming response to his return. Brennan supposed that the mound of paper behind him wasn't helping much either. "Arthur Columbo, Temperance Brennan."

"Ah, the brilliant doctor," he said, shaking her hand heartily. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise," she smiled at him, knowing there was no way she would remember a name like that. She had shaken hands with at least thirty new people in the brief minutes that they'd spent winding their way through the floor.

"It's nice to see you Art, but we have to get going. Cases to solve, right?"

"Ah yes," he wheezed, "which is why I'm here." He held out an additional stack of papers toward Booth. "Deputy Director Cullen asked me to drop these by on my way out."

Booth smiled and took the pages from him. If she hadn't been watching, she wouldn't have noticed, but she could tell in a glance that it was an entirely empty smile and his shoulders seemed to droop. "Thanks. I'll talk to you later, alright?"

"Sure thing, Booth. Take care." He wandered off, weaving through the desks. A loud flap at Booth's desk told her that he had deposited the additional work none too gently before walking out towards the elevator.

In the distance, Charlie's voice could be heard, stating proudly, "He's the one who got me eating pancakes. Of course that was well before last week. It's a good thing I got all these files so quickly, told you he wouldn't be out long. You've gotta be tough to be the number one homicide investigator in DC."

Booth sighed resignedly and walked on.

Trying to remember what she'd been working on in regards to remembering people she'd met, Brennan glanced around the room as they wove back toward the elevator. She thought she recognized most of the faces, though of course almost no names came to mind. She'd just met someone named... Columbus? Colander? Concubine?" What kind of name was Concubine? As Booth pressed the buttons to direct the elevator, she saw one person that she didn't recognize. A tall and attractive brunette woman in a fitted knee-length skirt drew the attention of many of the men in the vicinity. The doors slid closed before she had a chance to note anything else.

She leaned toward Booth and whispered, "You're going to have to remind me of names."

Booth frowned, "I thought we talked about paying attention to that kind of thing."

"Yes. But even _my_ brilliant mind would have trouble with that kind of rapid-fire introduction spree," she smirked as he threw a casual eyebrow flash in her direction.

* * *

A lunch with the squints, a phone argument, and an FBI-tailed car ride later, Brennan found herself emerging from the long hall leading to the prison visitation rooms. Though it had originally bothered her to get the special treatment when visiting her father, she now was grateful for the privacy and extra time. Max was now sitting in the room where they were to meet, speaking with a man in an expensive suit. As she approached, the two of them stood and shook hands before the man left. He passed, not meeting her eyes.

She entered the space and a guard shut the door behind her. "Who was that?"

"Hey baby. Lawyer," he shrugged and scrunched up his face with a look that expressed distaste. "You know how it is."

"Sorry I couldn't come the other day. I was, well, I was kind of in the hospital."

Max straightened and leaned toward her as she sat at the table opposite him. "How can you be 'kind of' in the hospital? Are you alright?"

"Yeah, dad. I'm fine." She sighed, "Booth and I were just... poisoned."

"_Just_ poisoned," Max laughed sardonically. "By whom? And is Booth alright?"

"We don't know. And of course he is. Actually, he was the one who recognized the symptoms and called for help." Just after she said it, she remembered that Booth had never answered her question about his knowledge of the subject.

Max seemed to have followed her train of thought and voiced the question that was roaming through her own head, "Does he have a history with it?"

"I don't know," she answered pensively. She paused. "I asked him, but he dodged the question and I didn't pursue it."

"So where'd all this fun happen?" Max queried attentively.

"At Booth's apartment. He made pancakes for breakfast and the syrup was apparently laced with arsenic."

_Ah, so 'fun' was the right word. _Genially, he said, "You were at his place for breakfast huh?" Eyebrow raise.

She winced, "I, uh, I believe the technical term is _conked_ my head on some lab equipment the night before. Booth took me to the emergency room and the doctor said I shouldn't be alone in case of complications."

_Uh huh._ "And were there any?"

"No, Dad. I'm fine. Though I do still have a bit of a headache."

He looked at her amusedly concerned and shook his head. "Good thing I scotchgarded you as an infant."

"I don't know what that means."

Max didn't reply right away, rather he thought of his children when they were young. The memory extended into the present to include the boy who had accompanied Booth when he brought the beautiful tree at Christmas. "His son must love pancakes. You and Russell did." He spoke coldly and quietly at the implication, "Good God, if he'd been with him for breakfast..." he began to boil, protective nature kicking in. "You have any leads on the bastard yet?"

"We're working on it," she spoke with an air of finality, knowing she could tell him no more about the investigation. "Look, Dad, I brought some cards." He allowed her to change the subject and calmed down as they played a few games she'd learned at the hospital.

Mid-snap Max questioned, "What if this person tries again?"

"Well the FBI won't let Booth back into his apartment while the investigation is ongoing, so he's staying at my place. And as I once told Russ, spending all my time with a sniper-trained FBI agent makes me feel pretty safe."

"But this person has snuck in at night before without waking him."

"Yes, but Booth's apartment doesn't have a security system," she said as she slapped down her hand on the cards between them with a "Ha!" She left out the part about the FBI being camped out on her doorstep as it still aggravated her. It seemed that whenever she got irritated, her head recommenced its painful pulse.

The thought that she and her highly trained self-appointed protector would have warning if someone came calling seemed to placate Max. He didn't voice his gratitude that Booth would be looking after her though. It seemed likely that such a comment would result in a shortened visit and possibly injury from his fiercely independent daughter. He smiled to himself, she'd always been like that. Like him. Pride filled his chest.

Max delved headlong back into the cards, giving his daughter a run for her money before she took him down in the blurry-handed coda of their game.

* * *

"Think about it," Hodgins began as the team stood together on the central platform in the lab. "Gormogon has already made an attempt on both of your lives. I find it strange that being as how we haven't yet caught him, and how you aren't yet dead that he hasn't tried again."

"Perhaps he just knows it's too dangerous to risk giving us evidence in another attempt," Booth posited.

"Or," Hodgins brain began spinning up to mach five, "maybe he has made another attempt. Gormogon could be a lot closer than we think."

"Gormogon knows all about my breakfast habits?" Booth rolled his eyes in disbelief.

Zack spoke up, "Actually, it wouldn't be hard to track you at the grocery store and find out what brands of food you buy."

Hodgins spat, "If it is an inside job, my money's on the shrink."

Brennan finally announced authoritatively, "Jack. Science here. Not speculation." She paused and muttered irritably under her breath, "And you brew _a lot_ of speculation."

"Yeah, you know, as much as I would love to slap cuffs on Sweets and interrogate him," Booth looked away longingly, "smack him around a little bit maybe, that kid is squeamish as the day is long. I can't really see him," he flipped his poker chip and caught it with a flourish, "chowing down on raw human."

"Actually the violinist's skull had been cooked, depth of the scoring suggests the flesh wasn't raw when it was consumed," Zack pointed out.

"Okay, that's really _really_ wrong," Booth groaned.

Brennan had tired of the wild guessing and turned them back to their current case. "Do we have a cause of death on Molly Hunter yet?"

Zack, though he had been eagerly interested in the previous conversation, changed gears quickly. "There are multiple stab wounds present on the ribs and sternum. I'm still identifying the exact weapon used, but it appears to have a serrated edge."

"Knife serrated or saw serrated?" Brennan asked.

"You can stab with a saw?" Booth puzzled.

"There are types of saws that have pointed shapes suitable for stabbing," Zack clarified for Booth. "And our murder weapon does seem to have more the appearance of a tapered saw blade."

"It would have been a very messy scene. Bits of skin and bone, possibly some internal organs might have flown outside of the immediate area. Hodgins, I'd like to you take a look at the evidence from the surrounding space. Angela, see if you can work up a model of any additional remains that Hodgins locates."

"You know, I was hungry before I came here," Booth said indignantly, face scrunched up. "Now I'm just gonna have to skip dinner tonight."

* * *

He was all talk. An hour later the pair sat at the diner with a handheld poison detector. Hodgins had instructed Dr. Brennan in its use and expressed the intent that she carry it with her until they solved these crimes.

The small black casing beeped and a green light flashed as it tested each of their meals.

"We're safe," she replaced the machine in her purse.

"Excellent. I'm starving."

_And here I thought our latest case had ruined your appetite._

"So, do you really doubt it could be Gorgonzola?"

"We don't have any evidence for it, but Gormogon is the last one who made an attempt on our life and he's still out there. We can't rule it out, but we shouldn't go on the assumption that it is.."

Booth's suit pocket rang.

Beep. "Booth."

Brennan turned over the limited evidence in her mind. It wasn't much to go on, and Booth didn't have much of his kind of 'evidence,' he didn't have a read on the person who'd tried to kill them. Her eyes met his and she realized he was staring at her intently, phone still to his ear. He snapped the phone shut, maintaining eye contact.

"What is it?"

"Agent Columbo's just been admitted to the hospital. Arsenic poisoning."

* * *

_duh duh DUHHHHHH_

_we're going to get to know a new character who has a very interesting connection to one of our heroes in the next chapter._

_reviews are my crack. i am a hopeless addict. please feed my addiction._


	6. Rossi

_sorry this chapter was so long coming. i've had a rough skeleton of the rest of this story that needed fleshing out (pun intended) and it took a little longer than i thought. the writing should be easier now. (bea knocks on wood) but i will say that reviews do keep me writing. i'm not trying to guilt you into reviewing, but... no. no, i am! review!_

_mad props to tempertemper, laperkin, danireed, FABdahling(fanofbones), mumrulz the spectacular, mistopher, ziggystarduzt, and daniellelovesbones for their reviews on my last chapter. for (most of) the rest of you (a couple people have acceptable excuses)... was it that bad? if so, tell me!_

_perhaps i should dangle booth over a cliff. then will the rest of you review? ;)  
_

* * *

It occurred to Booth that it had been only barely more than 24 hours since he'd been inside this hospital, swearing that he never wanted to be there again. Ah, well, wasn't that always the way of it? He noticed hospital workers he recognized, some even who had gone out of their way to say farewell when they'd been released the day before. A few smiled, mostly women and mostly at Booth, but the partners were walking too quickly to suggest they would be audience for a chat.

When they arrived outside Agent Columbo's room, another familiar face met him, but this was one he hadn't seen in a long, long time. It, too, smiled.

A deep female italian accent enthused, "Seeley, darling! I haven't seen you in ages!" The tall brunette wore a sleek black form-fitting suit with knee-length skirt. Within moments Brennan recognized her as the woman she'd caught a glimpse of in the Hoover building.

Booth took a half a second longer than normal to reply, "Rossi! I didn't know you were in town." They greeted with a kiss on each cheek. He was clearly not expecting to see her, but Brennan couldn't gauge whether or not it was a pleasant surprise. Booth had gone entirely unreadable.

"I have just been transferred. I arrived last Friday, but then you were in the hospital, and I did not want to disturb you while you were recovering." She turned her large, dark eyes appraisingly to Brennan, whom he had been guiding with a hand on her back. "And this is your girlfriend?" she spoke with the slightest hint of coldness.

"No, this is my partner, Dr. Temperance Brennan. Bones, meet Special Agent Stella Rossi." Booth offered no explanation as to where he and Agent Rossi had met. Brennan wondered what to think of that.

"Miss Brennan, I've heard so much about you." They shook hands.

_"Dr._ Brennan," she corrected.

"Ah yes, _dottore._ You have been working together for what? Three years?"

"You are well informed for someone who's just arrived," she replied. "Yes, it'll be about three years now."

"Well, the two of you are much the topic of conversation at the office." Agent Rossi's speech sounded formal, particularly when she addressed Brennan, although the slow rhythmic lilt of her accent seemed to make it sway leisurely through the air before arriving at her ears. The effect felt dismissive.

"What's the story with Art?" Booth queried, redirecting the conversation. "Is he going to be okay?"

"Well, he is not big and strong like you, Seeley. The arsenic, how do you say, did a number on him."

"It'll do that." The two agents looked at each other solemnly. Brennan had the distinct feeling that she was missing something, but felt it would be inappropriate to ask what. She felt uneasy and didn't like it.

It was Booth who eventually broke the silence. "Well, I don't mean to suggest that it isn't a pleasure to see you, Rossi, but what are you doing here? Do you know Art personally? You never were the hired muscle," he gestured to the two burly agents sent to keep an eye on the hospital room just beyond them, "you're an investigator."

"Yes, this is true." She picked up a file lying on a nearby table. "I am leading the team looking into this attack."

Brennan leaned toward her partner and directed her question at him, "Shouldn't Columbus be a part of our case, Booth?"

"Columbo. And yeah, I would imagine so."

"I suppose Director Cullen decided that you have enough to worry about." Through her eyelashes she shot an almost imperceivable glance at Brennan and touched Booth's arm, speaking silkily, "We will however be working much together, since our cases may be related."

"Excellent." Unreadable.

"Well, I've just stopped by to arrange to have the evidence and blood samples sent to the FBI Forensic Lab on Monday."

"My lab can handle the evidence for you, Agent Rossi," Brennan stated with an anxious shift to her other leg and a glance at Booth. He did not return it.

"I believe protocol requires that I submit all materials to the FBI lab. I'm sure they will be able to manage it."

"Rossi, Dr. Brennan handles the forensic work on a lot of cases for us. She has clearance, and she's also the very best. There's information you won't get from the bureau that Bones' people can find very quickly. I'm the unofficial liason, so I can help take care of that for you."

"I see. Well, we will talk about it next week. For now, it is Friday night and I must be going. A pleasure to meet you Doctor Brennan." She leaned in and placed a farewell kiss on Booth's cheek. "Ciao, Bellissimo."

Booth watched her go, then turned without comment to locate Agent Columbo's doctor. Fifteen minutes later, they had been briefed. Art Columbo was stable. It was unlikely he would wake before Monday. It was definitely arsenic. Unknown origin.

Booth turned to Brennan, betraying nothing in his deep brown eyes. "Let's go home."

* * *

Booth was quiet during the trip back to her apartment. At dinner earlier, Brennan had been looking forward to suggesting a stop at their favorite ice cream parlor, but the current atmosphere made her feel that the prospect of the sweet treat would not be welcomed.

But relief from her headaches had finally arrived, and Brennan welcomed it with sleepiness. The large engine's rumbling lulled her into a doze and it wasn't until the ratchet of the parking brake that she woke. They made their way upstairs without comment. With no other excuse, and apparently still not in the mood for much conversation, the partners splintered in the hallway, Booth finally breaking in the guest room's clean sheets, and Brennan looking forward to a long night's sleep in her own bed.

Three hours later, Brennan stared at the ceiling. She couldn't relax. Had she actually fallen asleep out of exhaustion, or had the engine's miniature shiatsu been the only thing allowing her to drift off? The presence of a body next to her? Whatever the cause, it wasn't present now and she found herself both tired and restless. Not a good combination. She knew that crankiness would soon follow. Rather than allowing herself to toss and turn, she pulled herself from her bed, slid her feet into her sasquatch slippers and padded down the hall to see if Angela had restocked her tea collection.

One endtable lamp was on in the living room, casting a ruddy glow on the couch's occupant. Booth sat paging through what looked like a copy of one of her books.

His tranquil eyes landed on her where she watched him from the hallway. "Hey."

"Hey yourself."

"You couldn't sleep either?" he tilted his head toward the back of the couch and inclined it in her direction.

"No. I'm going to make some tea. Assuming I have any, of course. You want a cup?"

"Thanks, Bones," he smiled at her for the first time that night.

* * *

To say that he hadn't thought about her would be a lie. It was her face that rose to the surface whenever he felt he might have feelings for his Bones. And in recent months that had been a fairly common occurrence.

When they arrived home and split for their separate beds, Booth had fallen quickly to sleep. There, his subconscious mind replayed scenes from his past. He and Rossi jumping each other in the shower. Their occasional digressions against the back of the gun shack. Silent lovemaking in the middle of the night, always a breath away from being discovered by those sharing his room. The sex had always been mindblowing. He realized that it had been a long time since he'd been that aroused.

Until he'd heard the brilliant and composed Dr. Temperance Brennan come with her mouth to his neck, crying his name in her sleep.

Seeing Rossi again strengthened his resolve to retain the thin line that kept himself and Bones platonic.

He knew what could happen when it went wrong.

* * *

He awoke in a sweat and an ill humor and made for the living room, looking for something to distract him. His eyes alighted on a copy of her novel _Bred in the Bone._ His fingers went to it without his even thinking about it and when he pulled it from the shelf, a folded sheet of paper fluttered to the floor. Booth picked it up and carried it with the book to her couch. The torn-edged sheet was sweaty and dirty. A coal-colored dust was ground into it so that the white was no longer distinguishable. The words inside made his breath stop.

_Angela - _

_You've always made me want to live. I've been so blessed to have a friend who will drag me out to experience a social life whether I want to or not. You have given my life breadth. Thank you. Live with reckless abandon and remember me. I love you._

_Russ - _

_While I'm sorry that we lost all of that time we could have had together, I have treasured reconnecting with you. You don't know how much it's meant to me to have gotten you back. Take care of your family and remember me. I love you._

_Booth - _

_I know you will feel guilty if you don't make it to me in time, but I need for you to know that it's not your fault. I have never once doubted your abilities, nor your drive. I don't now, and I never will. You've always tried to protect me. I don't always need protecting, and even when I do, it can't always assure safety, but it's made me realize that you mean the world to me. If Angela has given my life breadth, you have given it depth. You are family to me, Booth. Eat thai food and remember me. I love you._

She'd written a note when she'd been taken by the gravedigger. She had never told him that. _Family. Eat thai food. I love you. _The eyes that had begun to tear up chuckled with her humor in the face of death. Booth looked at the paper, rereading the message, touching its deceptively flat face and marveling at the depth. Eventually, he slid the folded sheet back into the book and flipped though pages absentmindedly as her handwritten words ruminated in his skull.

It was a farewell note. People said what they felt in farewell notes. She had said _I love you_ to all three of the recipients, did she mean something different for him than she had for Angela and Russ? Out of nowhere, it occurred to Booth that all of his past relationships had ended fairly badly. Things could not end badly for himself and Bones for either of their sakes. He had a sneaking suspicion that he wasn't the only one who pondered what could be if they didn't have their professional obligations.

Could they remain platonic forever? Friendships were rarely as rocky as romantic entanglements. He registered his brain's use of the word 'entanglement,' and noted it probably wasn't a good sign for his love life. Their relationship was as close as he'd been to any woman in his lifetime, including the mother of his child. Were they closer even? He'd once, in panic at their rapport, said she was like a guy friend to him. It wasn't true, he'd known that the moment it had left his mouth, but he didn't know how to describe their relationship. Friends? Yes, best friends. The sexual tension, certainly. Stimulating, infuriating, efficient partners in the workplace, undoubtedly.

Family?

_Yes._ His relaxed and apparently present subconscious answered without thinking. Booth reeled at the revelation and smiled.

He felt a presence and looked up to see his sleepy-eyed and disheveled Bones standing in the hallway.

"Hey."

* * *

Was it the tea that had caused the change in Booth's demeanor? No. He'd been peaceful from when she first arrived in the living room. He'd been looking through her book, could that have calmed him? No. She wasn't that good, though she smirked at the suggestion of it. Whatever it was, she was glad he had lost the stormy disposition. Unfortunately, though it was relaxing, the tea had not made her sleepy.

When she suggested a movie, Booth looked at her blankly.

"You don't own a television, but you have movies," he looked at her in disbelief.

"Well, I told you my father and I used to watch old movies. I don't watch them all that often, but I do have a fair collection of old films."

"Hence your knowledge of Sierra Madre."

"Hence my knowledge of Sierra Madre."

"You don't have a television, let alone a DVD player."

"This miraculous new contraption called a laptop computer plays discs of all sorts, Booth." Despite the hour, her sarcasm was in full swing.

"Well, what've you got?"

* * *

_The olive flew, in shades of gray, directly under David's feet, and he tumbled dramatically to the floor._

_Susan leapt to her feet before recognizing the face looking up at her. "Oh, hello. You're sitting on your hat."_

_"Hm, I know it."_

_"That's silly. I'm awfully sorry. I couldn't be more apologetic, really."_

_"Well, I might have known you were here. I had a feeling just as I hit the floor."_

_"That was your hat."_

_"Look at it, look."_

_She laughed gloriously. "Yes it's too bad, isn't it? Well, Joe here was showing me a trick and the olive got away."_

_"First you drop an olive and then I sit on my hat, it all fits perfectly."_

_"Oh yes, but you can't do that trick without dropping some of the olives, it takes practice."_

_"What, to sit on my hat?"_

_"No, to drop an olive."_

Booth basked in the banter on the 15-inch screen propped on the coffee table before them. Brennan was seated on the floor leaning against the couch near his legs. He hadn't seen this movie in a long time, so while familiar, all the dialogue hit him as new. It was a very pleasant feeling. Fresh nostalgia.

A messy ponytail gravitated in his direction. He felt a sudden and powerful urge to touch her hair. Would that be a good idea? Barely thinking about it, he stretched his arm out to rub her scalp. She said nothing but her head began a faint wobble in time to his fingers.

He stopped after a few minutes, then shifted so that he was sitting directly behind her, a leg aside each of her arms. Without a word, he pulled gently at the band and released the long strands to his waiting fingers. Silky and messy and somewhat tangled in places, Booth found his new favorite playground for his fingers. He wandered over her scalp and neither said a word, engrossed in the bickering pair flickering on the coffee table before them and the touch that lulled them both in the direction of sleep.

* * *

They did little more than watch old movies that weekend in a haze of what Booth had dubbed "new nostalgia," and Monday rolled around far too quickly for Brennan's tastes. She had entered the lab grumpy. This is why she didn't watch television, she thought, it was addicting and threw her off her game. Now she stood with her team on the platform, her back to the door, recalling the events of Friday night. After a few failed attempts, she flipped open a folder and located the agent's name, figuring she should speak it correctly at least once.

"Wait a minute, wait a minute." Hodgins looked at Brennan incredulously, "The FBI has a Lieutenant Columbo?"

Brennan replied, "Well, Agent Columbo, yeah."

Angela howled, "Does he look anything like him?"

"Like whom?" Brennan was puzzled.

Jack sputtered, "How often do you come across that name?"

"Not often," Angela giggled.

"I have no idea what you two are talking about." Brennan was beginning to get irritated.

"Oh, sweetie! We really need to get you a TV!" She patiently gave a short description of the television detective.

"Oh," Brennan said, only partially comprehending what she had just been told. "That should make it easier to remember his name." She turned her attention to Hodgins and their cases. "Is there any new information on the evidence from our poisoning?"

"Nada," he calmed from his laughter and sunk to a dismayed tone. "Whoever it was didn't leave us a whole lot to work with. I'm still analyzing particulates from the bootprint, but you two," he gestured to Brennan and Zack, "don't have any bones to work with..."

"Fortunately," Angela interjected.

Hodgins continued, "...and we tend to get a package deal on evidence."

"What about the Walker case?"

"Angela and I are working on a scenario that might help with weapon identification," Zack piped up. "The extensive skeletal damage from the fall has been most frustrating."

All of a sudden, Zack, Hodgins and Angela's eyes all bulged slightly.

"What?" Brennan asked.

"Wow," Angela said. "_I'd_ even tap that."

Hodgins turned to his fiancee, eyes popping even further out of his head.

"Don't get any bright ideas, Jack."

"Who is that?" Zack questioned.

"Who is whom?" Brennan was tired of being out of the loop.

Angela rolled her eyes a bit and pointed over Brennan's shoulder to the tall, curvy brunette in a pantsuit with more than the usual number of shirt buttons open.

"Oh, that's Special Agent Stella Rossi. Lead on the Caribou case."

"Columbo."

"Right."

Hodgins pulled his eyes away from the new visitor to look quizzically at Brennan. "Shouldn't that be part of your case?"

"Apparently not. But it looks like she might have changed her mind about wanting us to take a look at the evidence."

* * *

Half an hour later, Booth sat in his office, sorting through the mountains of pages that still littered his desk when his phone chirped at him.

Beep. "Hey, Bones, whatcha got?"

"What I have is an FBI Agent invading my lab, harrassing my people, and ordering them around," the voice on the other end snapped like a mousetrap. To say that there was an edge to her voice would have been the understatement of the century. She was downright furious.

_Uh oh._

"Don't your people have any kind of self-restraint? Damn federal agents. Why do we even work with people like this to begin with? I don't like it, Booth. This is _my _lab."

Booth started snapping files shut and dug his wallet and ID out of his desk drawer. He thought irritably that Rossi should have come and spoken to him about evidence for the Jeffersonian as he'd requested in the first place. He made his voice intentionally casual, "Look, I'll talk to Rossi. Actually, I was just about to head over there anyway. See you in a few." His phone slapped shut. _Bones, _ he added to himself, _try not to assault her._

Cullen chose that moment to walk into the room. "I've got some information for you."

Booth stood and pulled on his jacket.

"You going somewhere?" Cullen spoke, taken aback.

"I need to diffuse a situation."

"And what situation would that be?" A little put out by his underling's disregard of his desire to speak with him, Cullen placed his hands on his hips.

"Rossi is trying to take over Bones' lab."

Cullen's eyes spread wide. "Here. Take the file with you."

"Thank you, sir." Booth grabbed the file and walked to the door.

Cullen imagined the two were well-enough trained to inflict serious damage on each other. "Booth."

"Yes, sir?"

"Use your siren."

* * *

He could hear them before he'd even entered the building.

The two women were almost at each others' throats. For just a moment, he thought it looked like the two were fighting over him. but no, he was projecting from a memory. And as he looked into Bones' livid face and read her body language, he knew exactly what it was about. Rossi had invaded her territory. The fact that she let Booth wander so freely in her domain had never hit him so hard as it did right then, and a wave of pride rose in him. Meanwhile, the two alpha females looked ready for battle.

Zack and Hodgins were hiding discreetly behind a monitor up on the platform while Angela looked like she was trying to interject in the debate. Cam stood between the two, moderating. _Thank God for you, Cam._ Booth admired her ability to keep the two at bay, but there was little she could do about Rossi. She was outside her sphere of influence. Actually, there was little _anyone_ could do about Rossi. Booth sighed.

"Hey, hey," he spoke loudly and calmingly. "Whoa, let's all take a breath here." He stepped between the two of them. "Now what's going on?"

"_Doctor_ Brennan will not let me run my investigation."

"There is an FBI forensics lab, perhaps you have more influence around there, but _this_ is not your personal playpen. We have a system and an order in which we process evidence, and you are not in a position to change that. Dr. Saroyan and myself run this lab. We have final say about the investigation of evidence."

"Your facility is contracted out to the FBI and..."

"Whoa, okay Rossi, let's just go chat outside." Booth managed to steer her away from the confrontation. Brennan could hear him speaking diplomatically to her as they walked away, "There's a certain level of delicacy that you need to keep in mind when working with squints..."

"You do know we peyons don't actually have final say," Cam began as Brennan turned and passed her. "That's the Jeffersonian's powers-that-be."

"Yes, I know. But she is not one of them, and I don't like her. Booth at least is respectful."

Cam eyed her amusedly.

"He lets us do our jobs, I mean. He doesn't insist that he knows better. Our team works so well together because we trust each others' expertise."

"You're right."

"Damn straight."

* * *

_and then, all of a sudden, and with no warning whatsoever, booth was dangling over a cliff! now review (good or bad, i'll take either/both) or i drop him. and brennan. and they won't even get to kiss on the way down._

_i don't have any kind of claims to "bringing up baby" which is the movie i quoted, but i do highly recommend it. katharine hepburn (my personal hero) and cary grant are brilliant together. witty repartee at its finest._

_anyone who knows a cute guy who likes to play with hair is encouraged to send me a PM._

_next chapter coming very soon!_


	7. Aftermath

_i am so in love with all my reviewers. it may sound wrong, but i am ecstatic about how much everyone hates rossi. i take it as a compliment. take heart, she is there for a reason, and not just to randomly irritate y'all._

_so shoutouts! meleigha, FABulous, allymcnally, danireed, writingfordaisies, boreanazlover82, mumrulz the truly spectacular, ronata, ziggystarduzt, tempertemper my love, xshaunibx, mereva, and laperkin, thank you all for your reviews. the feedback makes my day!_

* * *

Brennan thundered into her office and came to a halt just short of her desk. _That woman._ _What right does she have? _Booth had been irritating when they'd first started working together, but at least he respected her lab for the most part. He hadn't tried to take over like this. She had wanted to storm at _him _ in those early months, but right now she was a level five tornado threatening to loose herself on the surrounding area.

She took a few deep breaths to calm down. Yelling so loudly seemed to have strained her vocal cords and a good amount of soft tissue in her neck and had her head complaining insistently. The realization hit her suddenly that the pain in her skull had not ceased after the face-off as she had expected, it was, in fact, increasing steadily.

Her hand shot out to the side of the desk in front of her. She felt lightheaded. Getting to her chair or the couch might not be attainable so she stood, supporting herself with her arms, waiting for the feeling to pass.

Someone entered her office behind her. "I talked to Rossi. She's going to use the FBI's forensics lab, but she'll go through me if there's any evidence that requires your special talents."

"You think it takes 'delicacy' to work with me?" she asked Booth plainly.

"No, I think it takes delicacy to work with people like Rossi, and that includes being particular about how you calm them down." He noticed her supported position and the fact that she hadn't turned to look at him. A feeling of abrupt disquiet rose in his chest when he realized that she also hadn't yelled nor had even been sullen when he entered. "Bones, are you okay?"

"No," her voice was feeble. "My head is throbbing like there's no tomorrow and I'm so lightheaded I... don't think I can make it to a chair."

Booth was beside her before she'd even finished speaking, left arm around her waist and right holding her elbow. He helped her to the couch and let her sink slowly down.

The rest of the squints had left Brennan to her foul humor, deciding together that she deserved a little time to cool down. At the sight of Booth helping her trembling frame to the couch, however, they flooded through the door in alarm.

"Brennan, sweetie! What's going on?"

"Her head is hurting again." Booth directed his attention back to the woman on the couch before him, "Did you bring the pills?"

She decided that this was not the time to worry about bombarding her body with more drugs. She spoke gingerly, "In my purse."

Booth looked back to Angela and the artist strode over behind Brennan's desk. She placed the purse on it's surface, poking around inside until she came up with several bottles of medications. Hodgins ran out to retrieve a glass of water and was back faster than Brennan's brain cared to calculate.

Brennan took the pills and water and attempted to swallow them. Her faltering throat, however, had other ideas and she nearly coughed them out of her mouth entirely. Now they sat on top of her tongue, dissolving and emitting a horribly disgusting taste. She stuck out her tongue, nearly gagging.

Booth had knelt down in front of her and put a napkin to her mouth and chin, mopping the water she'd choked up. His concern was written all over his face. "Relax, Bones. Try again."

This time she focused and managed to get the pills down. She made a face and stuck out her tongue again. "Mlehh. Do we have any juice or soda or something to get this taste out of my mouth?" Hodgins once more ran from the room in search of beverage.

"I'm going to take you home. I have to swing by the Hoover building first though. Stay here and rest until I get back."

Brennan contemplated arguing about being sent home for precisely one second, during which her brain pounded against her skull at least twenty times. Twenty Hertz. Twenty piercing throbs per second. No, she wouldn't argue, she was useless in this state. She felt fragile. She didn't like it.

"I'm not weak, Booth."

"I know you're not. There's a difference between weak and recovering. You took two hits in quick succession - hostile equipment, poison. And then to top it off you wound up in a heated argument with a psychotic bitch. I'd be surprised if that _didn't_ have an effect on you." He turned to the others, "Angela, will you stay here with her? Make sure she stays put?"

"Yeah, of course."

"Don't you think I should have some say in this?"

"No. If you had your way, you'd be back up on your feet working instead of getting better, and you'd just make yourself worse."

"Don't be so sure about that." At the moment, there was nothing that she wanted to do but to try to stay at still as possible on the off chance that it might help the rate of hammering in her head. The redundant pain was beginning to wear on her.

* * *

Booth knocked and poked his head into Cullen's office.

He looked up, "Situation diffused?"

"Yes, sir. I think we're safe for the time being."

"We going to need to file any assault charges?"

"No."

"Good."

"Sir?"

"Yes, Booth."

Booth held up the folder Cullen had handed him earlier, "I thought Agent Rossi was handling the Columbo investigation."

"She is, but I'd like for you to be in the loop as well. You have plenty to deal with at the moment, with the homicide and the attack on your partner and yourself, but the timeframe and MO are similar. Columbo has been with us for a very long time, and I'd like to make sure we have all angles on the case."

"Of course, sir."

"I understand you know Agent Rossi?"

"Yes, sir. We were at the Academy together."

"Good, good. Always helps to have investigators who are familiar with each other."

It was true, but Booth wasn't usually _quite_ this familiar with co-workers.

"Keep an eye on those two, would you? I don't think they have exactly complementary personalities."

"That is my intention. It would appear that the confrontation has exacerbated Dr. Brennan's head injury. I'd like to take these files home with me so she can rest and I can make sure she's alright while I finish up."

"Home?"

"Well, to Dr. Brennan's."

Cullen paused for a moment. "I see. Very well, Booth. See you tomorrow."

"Goodnight, sir."

Booth went to his office and began packing a number of files into a large briefcase. When Charlie walked in, it occurred to Booth that every time he was in the middle of something, Charlie interrupted him. It gave him a feeling of unease and incompletion, which in turn made him testy. Keep calm, Booth. He's a good investigator and means well.

"Have you been to see Columbo at the hospital?" Charlie asked, rounded figure leaning against the door frame.

"Not since Friday night."

"It's a shame. His children really are worried. Even at their age they seem to realize their dad has had a close call. I saw them there yesterday with their mother."

"Oh?" Booth asked, rifling through pages and not really listening.

"Lovely woman. They're separated. I can't imagine what went wrong, they both seem so friendly. It's sad to see the family so uneasy."

"I don't blame them. Arsenic is no picnic, and Art's not exactly young anymore." Booth picked up a file directly in front of him, looked at it, and deposited it on a pile to his right.

"True. Cullen's already earmarked him for some vacation time. He's even passed on his case to another lead."

Booth gave up on sorting the stack to his left and threw them all in the briefcase. "What was he working?"

"Stolen explosives. Actually, more have gone missing since he's been in the hospital."

"Ouch. Who's the new lead?"

"James Clarke."

Booth paused and looked up at Charlie with a casually pensive look. "I never liked that guy."

"Oh, well, at least he'll be able to keep the investigation going. He's gone to see Agent Columbo and asked to be filled in already."

"Art's awake?"

"Yeah. Rossi didn't tell you?"

"No, she didn't." Options filled Booth's mind. Ripping Rossi a new one was particularly appealing. He had the urge to go question Columbo about the poisoning himself, but it wasn't his case. He forced himself to ignore the situation and instead focused on his partner, debilitated by her confrontation with Rossi and waiting to go home and get some rest. Rossi could eat shit and deal with it herself. Booth snapped the briefcase shut.

"See you tomorrow, Charlie."

"Be careful, Booth. This sicko who poisoned the three of you is still out there."

"Oh, believe me," Booth's gaze had gone fierce. "I'm on alert."

* * *

_tune in next time, same bat time, same bat channel. some more smuffiness shall be coming very soon as well, so you've got that to look forward to. ;) i know how much you love the smuff._

_don't deny yourself. you know you want to leave me reviews._


	8. Home Investigation

_i giggle, cackle and clap like a silly schoolgirl every time you all speculate. it's a little embarrassing, really, but i love it. fortunately it's usually in the privacy of my own home, but i have had to shut my office door once or twice when reading reviews. ;)_

_props go out to danireed, meleigha, nanenu, xshaunibx, feistyfox, laperkin, mumrulz the amazingly spectacular ;) , fan(tastic)ofbones, heptephobiac, tempertemper, angeleyes46, cheesebk, tom's gg (welcome back!), hamlets-pirate, and heather(aitch)berry for all of their lovely reviews! i heart reviews!_

* * *

"All I'm saying," Angela spoke with her hands raised in defense.

"No," Hodgins replied conspiratorially, "I think you might be right."

She leaned in over his station near his ear, "You get confirmation on that, I'll make it worth your while."

Hodgins' eyebrows shot up. They shared a smirk and she strode back to her office.

He was certain that his fiancee was right. Booth sure did have a thing for the forceful ones. Cam, Rebecca, Brennan. Rossi?

As these thoughts crossed his mind, the sliding doors of the lab opened and Booth passed through. Jack quickly picked up a sample for the chromatograph and moved so that his path would cross the agent's.

"Hey, man."

"Heya Jack, how's it going?"

"Still walkin."

"Good, good," Booth began to move towards Dr. Brennan's office.

Jack noticed the beginning of his movement and spoke quickly to avoid too much of an interruption. That would certainly make the agent irritable and unlikely to spill any gossip-worthy info. "So, Booth, what's the story with you two?"

"Who two?"

"You and the Italian bird."

"Oh." Booth seemed to debate answering for a moment, but eventually admitted, "Well, we had a thing going back in Quantico."

Hodgins nodded, eyebrows raised. As convinced as he'd been, he was still impressed. "Looks like that must have been quite the experience."

"Oh, you have no idea. She did this thing with her hips..." He raised his eyebrows, shook his head and exhaled loudly.

"So what happened?"

"Turns out she's the disproportionately jealous type. She almost got into a fight with my little cousin who'd come to visit."

"She thought you had a thing going with your cousin? What's there a redneck part of Italy i don't know about?"

Booth settled into his stance, effectively distracted from his destination. "Well my cousin didn't like how she reacted at first so she didn't tell her right off that we were related."

Jack chuckled a grimace.

"My cousin got really angry at her for distrusting me. Told me later that anyone I was dating ought to have some faith in me. And when the cousin card had finally been played, Rossi actually didn't believe her at first. It looked a little bit like that fight over there, to tell you the truth," he nodded back to where his ex and his partner had nearly come to blows.

"Yipes. That's more than a little creepy."

"Which is a big part of why I ended it. I've bumped into her a few times, mostly at FBI functions, and she still seems a little possessive. I think she thought our relationship meant more than it did. Fortunately she hasn't been in the area for a while."

"Until now."

Booth made a reluctantly tolerant face and strode off to retrieve his partner.

* * *

"If that's what it takes to get you to rest, then yes, we will call you and keep you updated on the cases," Cam spoke as Booth walked into the room.

"Hope those docs gave you the good stuff." Booth looked to his partner, who was in much the same position as when he'd left an hour ago.

Brennan turned her head very slowly to look at him, "Yes, the medications are helping."

Not a lot though, he thought. "You feeling up for a car trip?"

"Let's just get it over with and get home," Brennan replied, steeling herself.

He approached her.

"And if you try to carry me, I will kick your ass," she spoke into the hand she had held against her forehead.

"In your condition?"

"Yes."

Hands raised in surrender, "No carrying," Booth agreed.

Angela grabbed Brennan's purse and coat while Booth helped her to her feet and guided her to the door.

* * *

The headache had abated, though not entirely and the drive home wasn't as bad as it could have been. Conversation during the trip was largely comprised of her insistence that she be available for consultation. Booth suggested that her only consultations should be with an ice pack and a blanket. The eventual compromise consisted of Booth working from the dining room table and Brennan stretched out on the nearby couch.

Brennan pulled the afghan up to her chin and laid her head so she could watch Booth at the table. "Cullen told you to follow up on the Cumulus case?"

"Columbo. Yeah, it's going to take me a while to sort through all the info Charlie dug up on both of them," Booth sighed.

"He's quite taken with you, Booth," she smiled.

"Yeah, his enthusiasm would be great if he could just, you know, channel it," he gestured with paralleled hands.

"He's just trying to impress you."

Booth grumbled.

"Well do you have anything?"

"Let's see, regarding Columbo... he was into martial arts in his day." He squinted, "I remember hearing about a sting he was involved with a while back. Wonder if that's in here." Booth paused to look uncertainly at the mountain of pages he'd spread over the table.

"Must have been back before the sleet fell on the roof."

"It's snow, Bones. Snow on the roof."

"But his hair is gray."

"I don't think the expression is meant to be _quite_ that literal. Umm..." he scanned a finger down the page, exhaled, flipped to the next. Been with the bureau since 1974. Married twice, separated from his second wife. Lost his father in a car crash when he was 12." He grunted, "This stuff's all out of order."

"You have some pretty complete records there. That was what? 100 years ago?"

"Give or take. He thumbed through a few more pages."

Something clicked in Brennan's brain. "Booth! A widow's son."

Booth shook his head dubiously, "I don't see this being Gorgonzola."

"Gormogon."

"I still don't see it."

"Your gut doesn't see it?" she teased.

"When's the last time you went with my gut on something?"

"The week before never."

"Precisely, so let's give it a shot here."

"Does arsenic in the digestive tract effect your gut?"

"Does a crack to the skull effect your reasoning?"

She chuckled and a sudden powerful throb in the region of her temple caused Brennan to suck a quick sip of air between her teeth.

"Sorry." He grimaced. "You alright?"

"Yeah," she straightened her head and shut her eyes against the pain.

"You want me to get you anything?"

"A tourniquet?" she deadpanned.

"For your head?"

"Sure."

"I'm fairly certain the justice system frowns upon that."

"How about some water then? I'm thirsty." He stood at the request. "Warm, if you don't mind. I'd prefer not to have a brain freeze."

"As you wish." He disappeared into her kitchen and returned two minutes later with a pleasantly warm squirting water bottle. He held it upright and squeezed twice, it puffed air and mist. "Here," he handed it to her. "Now you can drink without having to move your head."

She smiled faintly. "Smart, Booth. Thanks."

He worked quietly, slipping into the kitchen to make and receive phone calls while Brennan rested. Eyes open, eyes closed, she couldn't seem to fall asleep. When it did come, it was very light, she could still hear Booth shuffling through papers, phone buzzing followed by footsteps and his muttered voice in the other room. Her headache prevailed for a long time, but eventually receded. Just as the afternoon sun spread to the couch where she lay, she finally sighed aloud and slid into rest.

* * *

A familiar smell woke her. She inhaled Wung Foo's, and found herself famished. The clink of dishes came from the kitchen, a muffled, but distinct endeavor to be quiet.

Brennan held the arm of the couch as she stood and moved to the kitchen, still bleary-eyed.

Booth looked over to the doorway. "Hey," he said softly.

She smiled in response.

"Hungry?"

Nod.

"Go sit."

She'd lowered herself into a chair at the dining table. What time was it? She glanced at a wall clock. Nine? Wow.

"Sleep well?"

"Apparently. I can't believe how late it is."

"Yeah, well it worked out to our benefit. Sid agreed to drop off some food on his way home."

That was nice of him, she thought. "I didn't hear anything."

"You were out like a light. He says that he hopes you feel better and to make sure you finish your soup."

As usual, Sid had worked magic. By the time she had emptied the bowl, her headache had diminished to mild tenderness.

She glanced around. Booth's piles had morphed and spread like weeds across her apartment. She supposed he had mostly done sorting, though a few files lay open next to the chair at the end of the table.

"So, how's Colombia?" she asked.

"The country?"

"The man."

Booth swallowed and looked up at her. "_Columbo's _ awake."

"Does he remember anything?"

"I don't know. I've been too busy keeping an eye on you to speak to him or Rossi."

Brennan rolled her eyes and reached for a plate of noodles. "You don't need to do that, Booth. I don't have to be looked after."

Booth stopped with his mouth open, bite of mee krob halfway between plate and awaiting orifice.

"Earlier today you couldn't make it to the couch by yourself."

The fact that she kind of agreed with him, even if only in the short term, made her irritable.

"As soon as I'm able, I will physically make you go and get your job done."

"You do that."

"Condescending."

Booth shrugged. Her temper rose a notch.

"So what is all of this?" Brennan gestured to the rearranged files covering every available surface.

Booth pointed his chopsticks at three stacks on the coffee table. "Uninvestigated criminal arsenic leads, FBI-investigated arsenic leads, international associates," he pointed to two additional stacks at the end of the dining table, "poisoning cases, other attacks on agents."

"What about that one?" Brennan indicated a small pile wedged behind a box of steamed rice to his right.

"Mostly has to do with an incident involving arsenic at the Academy several years back."

"Hey, that sounds like it could be related. Arsenic and FBI agents?"

"No, don't think so. Doesn't match."

"What's your evidence?"

He took a swig of his beer. "My gut."

"Booth," she began to protest.

"Didn't we talk about going with my gut? Let's start that right now. This is my job, remember? You get me your facts and I'll roll with them."

"You get me my evidence, I'll get you your facts," she snapped.

Booth changed the subject. "There was one really thorough file that I wanted to check out," he dropped his fork and pushed back a number of manila folders that were still spread haphazardly across the table. "Arsenic trafficking," he grasped one and flipped it open. "Oh, excellent, this is Columbo's bust I was thinking about before."

"Our victim arresting a bunch of bad guys with an arsenic history?" Brennan's voice sounded incredulous even to herself. "That sounds like a really good match. Almost too good. Can professional criminals really be that dense?"

"That's how they get caught. Geesh, this is a huge file, what's with all the," he paused and rolled his eyes. "Oh, that's why. Charlie was on the task force too."

"Anything out of the ordinary?"

Booth scanned the pages, eyes squinting, "Doesn't look like it. Sting went down without a hitch, arrested a dozen traffickers." He read on silently and finally breathed a "Wow."

"Wow what?"

"Sounds like some good work," Booth sounded impressed. "We had a man inside and they never saw it coming." He plopped the folder down decisively and picked up his fork again. "I like it. I'll look into any vermin that might have escaped that rat trap tomorrow."

He took another few bites and looked up at his partner.

"So how's your head?"

* * *

_leave me some love! i plan to post the next chapter soon, and i think you will like the next chapter. ;)_


	9. Monday Night

_and now, as promised..._

* * *

Brennan's head no longer registered pain. Maybe it simply didn't care. Thumbs circled the bare skin above each vertebra with particular delicacy. Indulgence moved slowly up from shoulders to the hollow at the base of her skull and spent millenia there, teasing her to life, then began it's descent. A slow and unwavering descent.

She forbade a low whimper to escape her throat. No success. Apparently she had little control over her vocal cords at the moment.

By the time his hands reached the very base of her spine, his mouth had pulled perilously close to her body, hot breath caressing the back of her shoulder blades, moving up until she finally felt his soft and full kiss on the back of her neck. Another kiss, higher. Again, just at the baseline of her hair and her head fell forward helplessly, skin dancing at the moist touch.

The ministrations of his lips had been torturously slow, and his hands had stalled at her hips, one rough hand resting on either side. But now, the tumult rolled over her. Warm, wet caresses rained on her neck, her shoulders, her back, a whirlwind of sensation drew a long delicate cry from her lungs.

And when his hands began to move again, they extended down the front of her thighs and ran open palms back up the sides of her body, fingers reaching around her front. They moved up to her stomach. Up her rib cage. Without hesitation over the sides of her breasts and up to her collarbone. From there they shifted smoothly to her front and ran swiftly back down. As much as her breasts were calling for personal attention, the gestalt path his hands took left her with an overwhelming sense of completeness. Her body was one whole, expressing all-encompassing pleasure.

And arousal.

Somehow, she endured the double siege of the strong hands meandering light and flat over her front and kisses smothering her back. The urge to arch her spine was powerful, but she didn't know which way to bend. How could she possibly distance either side from such sweet bliss?

He praised every inch within reach with hands and lips. With one exception. Each time a hand ranged below her navel, it swirved to avoid the shelter between her legs, and before long, she was completely beside herself with longing. Her knees were parted, body uncovered, inviting him to slide down to her growing wetness. But his hands deliberately missed the mark each time.

She hummed, moaned, and growled in frustration, finally pleading, "Please, Booth! Please, please!" A long moan and then a whisper, "Touch me, Booth!"

She could feel the heat of his body shift to just inches away from her back, the lips slid to her neck and caressed with new passion and a hand shot to her center. Roughened fingers, deft as the day is long, smoothed the closed but wet lips. A finger parted them and she inhaled his musky scent.

The other hand ambled across her front. It paced as though it had no clue about the sweet torture below.

Finally, he graced her with strokes. Deeper. Deeper still. Endlessly Deeper.

She barely registered her own voice as it wailed his name.

His thumb nuzzled into her hood and pressed. Inside, fingers urged up against the soft wetness, outside thumb advanced downward. Between the two a quake was preparing to arise. The clasp inside of her held fast. Her blood was beginning to boil.

And her eyes shot open. A choked breath and she was silent. Her head was once more resting on her partner's shoulder, his arms held her tightly as his chest rose and fell slowly under her hand.

Had she just been dreaming about Booth?

Yes.

While sleeping in his arms?

Yes.

Booth touching her, stroking her?

Oh, yes.

She forced herself to remain still and to keep her breathing under control.

But it was hard. She was painfully aroused and felt that she might just die from the acute tension that still wracked her hips. It would be so easy and oh so good just to touch herself. Just a little bit to unwind what her masochistic subconscious had built within her.

Damn her subconscious.

She eventually decided that she had to do something, but not here. Trembling slightly, she pulled herself from his warm arms and made for the bathroom.

* * *

As much as Booth hated her being in pain, he loved that his massages were able to help her sleep, and he certainly loved having her in his arms. He hadn't even fallen asleep before she'd rolled over and snuggled into him. He'd smiled and slipped into a peaceful rest very quickly.

Once again, though, he found himself wide awake in the middle of the night and thankful that her body had steered clear of his lap. Because she was once again moaning, and it was once again his name on her lips.

But this time her moans were more pronounced, and they eventually took on a different tone. She cried out feebly in frustration, "Please, Booth! Please, please!"

Booth looked at her face. She was still asleep. He wasn't sure how she hadn't woken herself with her own cries.

But she was pleading. He was somewhat disturbed wondering what her sleeping mind thought that he would do.

"Touch me, Booth!" she exhaled voicelessly.

Eyebrows up. Or wouldn't do.

He double checked. Definitely asleep. Okay, Booth, a subconscious request is not an _actual_ request. As much as he'd like to help her, he was quite certain that he couldn't feel her up in her sleep. That was very clearly on the wrong side of the occasionally fuzzy moral line.

And because you work together, he thought reproachfully. Boy, this was confusing.

When she whimpered again into his skin, he decided that there were a few innocuous parts of her body that would be alright for his hands. He had been massaging her a lot lately, after all. Just a little bit though, Booth.

He let his fingers move slowly over the skin of her arm, the center of her back where his hand lay already. His touch was light as a breeze, and he held his breath, praying that she wouldn't wake. Or perhaps that she would. No, Booth, this cannot be permanent. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea. He considered stopping, or getting up to go sleep on the couch.

But his mostly innocent touch seemed to have done something for her, because the frustration was suddenly gone from her mumbling and his name tumbled from her beautiful mouth in mounting pleasure. It sounded like she was moments away.

And suddenly she stopped with an abrupt breath. She moved slightly, deliberately. She was awake. Booth's hands froze in place and he made his breath slow, feigning sleep. For a few moments she lay there, breathing heavily, quickly, and then she extracted herself from him and climbed out of bed.

Damn. Off to splash cold water on her face, no doubt. It was just as well, he reminded himself.

Moments later he heard her breath hitch and accelerate behind the bathroom door.

* * *

She swung the door shut behind her and stood in the dim of the auto-sensor nightlight. She looked at the glass-shielded bulb, it glowed orange back at her, unblinking. _What? _ she thought defensively at it. She let her head hang limp, curiously free of pain after Booth's bedtime massage, and leaned her hands against either side of the sink.

Some small part of her questioned whether it was right for her to finish what her subconscious mind had started with Booth right in the next room, but she was wide awake and aroused and she suspected that the only way she would get any sleep would be to relieve some of the tension.

Her eyes closed and she saw Booth. Her partner. Her friend. Her recently imagined lover.

_They sat in his truck, bickering. _

A hand slid between her legs.

_He snapped at Dr. Sweets for suggesting that their partnership might be terminated._

One finger sought her aroused clit.

_His voice sounded longingly over the phone, assuring her that he would be done soon with his psychological evaluation._

The finger made contact. She gasped.

_The way he looked at her, touched, when she asked him to look into her parents' disappearance._

It strummed lithely. Another two fingers sought the nearby wetness.

_He stood in a suit, one hand on either hip, holding back the jacket and showcasing his long, lean torso._

They urged inside and stroked the soft ceiling. A long hum issued unbidden from her throat until she clamped it into shallow, erratic breaths.

_She asked him to make a difficult cross-country trip overnight on a hunch. She awoke to him standing by her bed, coffee and donuts in hand._

Thumb and fingers clutched at her as they had in her dream, unrelenting. She struggled to at least disconnect her voicebox from the air expelled from her lungs.

_He held a stone and read its message aloud, "I love you."_

Her body burst in shivering light, her head flung back and eyes slammed shut as she came powerfully.

_Booth held her, draining fear from her body._

Oh, wow, she thought.

* * *

Booth lay there, utterly flabbergasted. She'd now had no fewer than two sex dreams about him, one that she claimed not to remember, and one that she was now polishing off in full wakefulness.

The acoustics of the bathroom amplified her breathing and he could do nothing but listen to it, enthralled. He had to fight the urge to touch himself, he was certain that she would not be long, and it really wouldn't do to get himself even more riled up and not be able to finish things off. The urge was also rising in him to burst into the bathroom and touch her as she'd been begging, to suck at her sweetness, to press her to the wall and make passionate love to her.

Though he'd always felt their sexual tension, he was surprised at the intensity of it now. But his conscious mind kicked in and reminded him that if he went down that road, he could jeopardize the greatest partnership he suspected he would ever have.

He could not lose his Bones. With this thought firmly in his mind, he bunched the sheets around his crotch to hide his arousal and feigned sleep.

He would not lose his Bones.

* * *

She stopped on her way back from the bathroom and gazed on her sleeping partner. He truly was gorgeous. She couldn't physically see his face in this light, but she could see it in her mind as clearly as if it were bright, sunny noon. The frown lines at the corners of his mouth, the smile lines that framed his eyes, the creases on his forehead where he'd expressed surprise, confusion, disdain, anger. His jawline and strong chest that rose and fell steadily, sturdily. Somehow she found it miraculous that she hadn't had any sex dreams about him before.

But what surprised her more was that he hadn't woken up. It was possible that she'd been quiet during her dream, but based on her heart rate, she suspected that she'd at least had significantly increased breathing. Where was the razor-sensed sniper? Her supposed bodyguard?

But she didn't need a bodyguard, she reminded herself. It was just as well, she wouldn't have to explain anything. Nothing to mention. It would be easier.

She climbed into bed on her own side, maintaining distance, but when she began to drift off, she found herself rolling in his direction. You shouldn't do that, scolded her brain. But she was simply gravitating toward the warmth. Yes, that was it. And boy, was he ever warm. Once she'd settled against him, she felt him wrap her in his arms and a small sigh escaped her lips.

The morning found their hands intertwined.

* * *

_you know the drill by now... you review, i write. the more reviews, the quicker we advance the story and get to something maybe a bit more satisfying. ;)_

_so yeah, tell me... do you like?_


	10. Disconnection

_sorry for the long break between the last chapter and this one. work can be exhausting for more than just booth and brennan, and unfortunately insomnia is frequently more disruptive than productive._

_should also tell you, this story is currently planned to last to somewhere in the vicinity of 20-24 chapters. maybe a smidge longer, i've been known to have chapters get too long for their own good while writing and split them up. so pace yourself. we will get a hefty amount of smut and fluff when all is said and done. and i do mean hefty, folks, this ain't no one-time payoff. actual smut, so fear not. i shall not remain a tease forever! ;)_

_that said, mild angst alert._

_and super thanks to all my reviewers for the last chapter! mumrulz the wonderlicious, aching bones, jaxtig, laperkin, feistyfox, danireed, kristina-666-85, FAnofBones, tempertemper, spacemonkey13, celticgina, heatherberry, kyizi, hamlets-pirate, bonesdbchippie, bluetigress, tom'ss gg, and mistopher. you all make this ficwriter's heart happy! the same is true for you alert/favorite add-ers, but you've gotta review to see your name up in lights! ;) hehe..._

* * *

As light filtered through her eyelids, sweet pressure was enveloping her mouth. Whatever it was, it was addictive and her lips strove to maintain the force. She felt as though she were sinking into deep contentment as into quicksand.

The lips pressed against her own moved gently. She slid a little further.

Hers closed and opened again. The others mirrored. Slide.

As her mind refused to engage and question, every movement drew her in deeper. And oh, did deeper feel good.

She slowly came to realize that it was not another dream, that there wasn't anyone she was in the habit of kissing at the moment, and certainly not in her sleep. Her lips froze. At the same moment, the other mouth did the same and pulled away.

She opened her eyes to sleepy sepia brown ones, locked on her in fear and shock.

"Bones. I... I'm sorry. I just woke up and we were..."

"Uhh... me too," she offered lamely.

"Um, well," Booth pulled himself from the pillow they were sharing and stood up awkwardly. He picked up the clock on the bedside table. He flashed the red digits at her and spoke rapid-fire fast. "We'd better get ready. I'll just go hop in the shower."

As her partner passed through the door to the hallway, then that to the guest bathroom, Brennan sat up in bed and wondered what had just happened.

You had a sex dream about your partner, got off thinking about him, and then woke up making out with him. And then he panicked and ran away. Lovely. Because your thoughts about him weren't complicated enough.

* * *

Booth walked quickly into the bathroom and shut the door, leaning up against it and willing himself to breathe.

Holy shit.

Booth was not a man to swear...

But holy shit.

This had gone much too far. He had been too lax, too willing to fall asleep with his partner, too accepting of being turned on by her dreams. He had a past to atone for, and the best way for him to do that was in the partnership with the astounding and brilliant woman he had just kissed and left alone in bed. He could not risk his partner, his best friend. Booth was familiar with self-sacrifice. He was Catholic, after all. He could handle it, he just couldn't let it happen again.

For now, a shower was in order. He looked down. A very _cold_ one.

* * *

As he crossed back the hall to the guest bedroom, he could hear the water running in the master bath. He changed quickly and moved to the kitchen where a pot of coffee was brewing. Halfway through his mug, Brennan appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, clad only in a white bathrobe.

Booth gulped, somehow maintaining calm. "So, how'd you sleep?"

"Oh, very well," she replied. It was true. She'd been exceptionally relaxed after her post-dream activities and, though she was not in the habit of sharing her sleeping space with anyone, she'd been sleeping very soundly in Booth's arms. It was just the waking that had given her a start.

"Good, good." He downed another gulp of coffee.

"Look, Booth." She forced herself to speak. "There's no need for us to feel awkward. We were sleeping in the same bed, close together, it's a fairly natural and easy mistake to make, regardless of who initiated it." She hated that she'd used the word 'mistake' the moment it left her lips.

"Easy mistake," he nodded, parroting her.

Both of their minds believed it to be true, but neither found any relief in the other admitting it was an error.

The anxiety had been dispelled by their comments, replaced by a mild disappointment. Booth managed to hide it effectively. "So, I have a lot I need to take care of at the office today. Would you mind if we drove separately?"

Brennan had retrieved a mug and was pouring coffee as she replied, "Not at all. I haven't driven my car in nearly two weeks, I think it needs a little activity."

"Great," he smiled at her, then moved to the living room to repack all of his files, now making note of those that had been sorted and checked. In his haste, he knocked over a couple stacks, blanketing the carpet in white. He scowled and collected them in a flurry.

"You want something to eat, Booth?" Brennan peeked her head out from the kitchen.

"No thanks. I'm not really hungry. I'm just going to head in to work early I think. Lots to catch up on from yesterday."

"You didn't need to do all that yesterday, you know."

He looked at her like she had just suggested the Pope was a Buddhist monk. "Of course I did. You weren't feeling well. You've said yourself that a good partnership consists of people being protective of each other."

She had to agree with the thought, though she was quickly becoming churlish whenever Booth used her own words against her.

"I'll talk to the agents watching the building and have someone follow you in to work." He saw her mouth open in protest and spoke quickly, "We do still have someone out there who tried to kill us, Bones."

She rolled her eyes.

"Take it easy today. You are still recovering."

"Yes, doctor." Surly.

Despite her clear irritation, Booth had a sudden inexplicable urge to kiss her goodbye when he passed by her for the door, as though it would be the most normal thing in the world. He refrained.

As he walked from her building, he sighed. It would be a long day and he prayed that the awkwardness would fade quickly.

* * *

His morning was a haze of paperwork and more sorting of files, which, while not raising his spirits any, at least managed to distract him. In addition to the complicated morning encounter, he was feeling somewhat depleted due to their lack of suspects in their own poisoning. Her call, promising a very damning murder weapon in the Molly Hunter case made his spirits finally perk up.

"Alright, whatcha got?" Booth asked eagerly as he beeped his way onto the Jeffersonian's medico-legal lab platform.

Brennan spoke as he approached. "Well, as you know, Zack was having trouble coming up with a murder weapon due to trauma and her condition."

"Right. Brittle bones, long fall, puzzler for Zack," he pulled the poker chip from his pocket and began playing with it absentmindedly.

"Angela helped me apply a dispersal pattern map on the crime scene," Zack piped in, "which helped finally reconstructing the skeleton and determining a murder weapon." He stepped to the table behind him and picked up a thin, pointed tool, "The curf marks suggest a 10 inch keyhole saw like this one, used in construction, particularly often by electricians."

Booth caught the chip and smiled, "The ex-husband is an electrician."

"You're looking for a saw like this one," Zack held it up in front of his face before putting it down.

Brennan frowned. "Would he have used his own tools to kill his ex-wife and then kept them? Could he really have been that stupid?"

"That's how they get caught. We'll check his tools for blood." The agent made to leave, calling behind him, "You coming, Bones?"

"No, I have a lot to do here."

Booth stopped as though he'd just ran full face into an invisible wall and turned to look at her.

"You don't want in on the bust?"

She placed both hands on her hips and spoke defensively. The gesture seemed a contrast, but his partner was no ordinary woman. "I have two full sets of skeletal remains to ID as soon as possible and they're in bad shape."

Booth was at a loss for what to say. His enthusiasm seemed to have diminished considerably.

"It'll take Zack and I all day at least to do reconstructions."

"Alright, Bones. You have fun with that," Booth said as casually as he could, but his voice betrayed just a hint of stiffness. And disappointment. He walked from the lab.

* * *

He'd been in a mood already when he went to apprehend the ex-husband, so when the man put up a fight, using the murder weapon to attack Booth, the agent was not overly gentle in the arrest. His abruptness had even earned him a small slice on his arm from the keyhole saw. It was superficial, but it was enough to force him to stop by the FBI's medical clinic on the bottom floor of the Hoover building. And the guy had put a bloody hole in his twelve-hundred-dollar suit, Booth thought irritably as he walked to his office, torn coat slung over his arm.

He was so off his game that he didn't notice her until she was upon him.

"Seeley! What has happened?" the rich italian voice gushed, touching his arm below the bandage on his left bicep. Rossi was wearing a very low-cut top which Booth tried not to notice.

"Eh, an arrest got a little colorful. Something I can do for you?" he asked as she followed him into his office.

"Yes, I am looking for the file on the Academy arsenic poisoning. Charlie he said that he pulled the file for you, but he looked earlier and could not find it," she gestured to the stacks filling Booth's office.

"There's a lot of material here, he could have missed it."

She put a hand on her hip. "Charlie is very thorough."

True. His eyes moved briefly to her chest. _Dammit, Booth, knock it off._

"You think there's a connection between the cases?" he asked.

"Both involved rat poison, I believe. I would like to check the file."

"Art was hit with rat poison?"

"Yes."

Booth's temper flared. "When did this information come to light?"

"The FBI lab determined that very quickly," she replied calmly.

"You are aware that Cullen wants me kept in the loop on the case?"

"Well, what is it that you would like to know, Seeley?"

He put his hands on his hips and spoke curtly, "What the lab found, Art's story when he woke up, any other little tidbits you've got."

"Certainly. You have this file?"

Was she suggesting a trade? Fine. Booth thought back to the events of the morning. He forced his mind to fast forward through his wakeup call and came to a halt at the paper storm. "I must have left it at home." Perhaps it slid underneath the couch. "I need to run back there to change anyway. This suit is ruined. I'll take a look for it when I'm there."

"I will come with you and bring you up to date on Agent Colombo's case while we drive."

"Fine." It wasn't. "Let's go." It seemed like Booth was spending less and less time in his office, and he was less than enthused about Rossi occupying the seat usually filled by his partner, but if that was how he could get information on Colombo's case, then he would endure.

* * *

Rossi was true to her word. Arthur Colombo hadn't noticed any signs of entry upon returning home from the gym. He had gone to the kitchen and consumed very quickly almost a full bottle of vitamin water and before long he had been on the floor, writhing in pain. Apparently the intruder had remained after lacing his water, waiting for him to return home, because once incapacitated, he had been beaten and nearly knocked unconscious. As he lay, unmoving but aware, he had heard the voice of his attacker making a call on a cell phone. He hadn't picked out any of the conversation, but had said that the voice was low and grating. Like a heavy boot in gravel. After the intruder left, Colombo had been able to get to his phone and dial for help before losing consciousness.

No prints anywhere at the scene other than Colombo's and those of his children. No one in the building had seen anything suspicious, nor noticed any strangers coming or going that evening. The security cameras in his building had been on the fritz for several weeks, so no video footage of the hallways or lobby. The landlord had been procrastinating getting them fixed.

The FBI forensics lab had determined that his water had been laced with an arsenic-based rat poison, and had found very little else. Rossi suggested that perhaps his genius scientists might compare it to the poison from Booth's case and see if they could tease any more information from it. Booth assured her that they could.

* * *

Booth used his key and disarmed the security system as they entered.

"This is a nice place. Big. You can afford this on a government salary?" Rossi asked, surprised, as she stepped through the living room, taking in the decor.

"This is Bones' place."

"That would explain the artifacts." She fingered a shelf below what looked like an ancient Native American tribal vase, "You live with your partner?"

"I'm staying with her while we're investigating this case and still have some psycho guy trying to season our food."

"It makes sense. But Booth, how do you know it was a guy?"

"You know, Bones said the same thing."

"Women can be just as psychotic as you."

It was true, he thought. He didn't say anything.

He went to the guest room to change. Fastening the last few buttons while he walked out into the hall, he turned right into a face and before he knew it, Rossi had grabbed his shirt and was kissing him.

He froze. His brain had stopped working. After a split second, his temper engaged. Booth hated being out of control, and this included people springing things on him. He hadn't even had any warning. He pushed her away.

"Whoa, Rossi, what the hell are you doing?"

She narrowed her eyes and looked over his shoulder into the master bedroom. Brennan had not made the bed in the morning, and it was clear that two pillows had been used.

"Ah, you _are_ with Doctor Brennan." She made to release her hold on his shirt.

"It's not like that," he snapped. _Why on earth did you just share that information?_

Rossi pulled close to him again. "It's not?"

He pushed her away again. "Look, Rossi..." he was trying to be diplomatic.

"Yes, Seeley?"

"Things have been over with us for a long time."

"You are seeing someone?"

"Even if they're single, it doesn't mean you can go around kissing just anyone."

"Ah, but _I _ am not _just anyone, _Seeley. You know how I can make you feel," she purred, stepping toward him again.

He pushed her to arm's length, holding her shoulders there and looked at her sternly. "That's not the point."

"Then what is the point?"

Without planning it, his eyes helplessly slid to a framed photograph hanging in the hallway next to them. In it, Bones and her brother Russ were building a sand castle at the beach. It must have been shot by Angela, the perspective was poetic and suggested a professional eye. But what made it astounding to him were the gigantic, silly grins on their faces, suggesting childhood, though it had only been taken the previous summer. She was radiant and he'd always found it difficult to look away. Every time he'd been at her place and had walked down the hall to use the bathroom, he couldn't help but stop to take in her smile.

Rossi followed his gaze and looked back at him before he could peel his eyes from the photo. She chuckled amusedly and strode back toward the living room. "So where is this file, Seeley?"

After a few minutes of searching, he located it underneath the couch and left her shuffling through papers while he walked back down the hall to the bathroom.

Damn. The last kiss to grace his mouth had been from the sweet lips of his Bones, now he was wiping frantically to make sure he had no lipstick remaining. Despite washing his face three times, he couldn't seem to remove the sticky, chemical feel. At last, resigning, he made sure he didn't have any lipstick visible on him and returned to the living room.

"Yes, I was right," Rossi read from the file open in her hands. "Rat poison. And it appears that there are still samples in evidence."

"It's a long shot."

"Yes, well I have a hunch," Rossi replied with a smirk.

* * *

_poor booth, fighting off women left and right._

_course he shouldn't be fighting off the one on the left, but he'll probably figure that out eventually._

_now, this is one of those chapters i was talking about that got too long and got split up. which means the next chapter will be ready in a day or two. the quicker you review, the quicker we get rossi out of brennan's pad. ;)_


	11. Long Day

_i personally find it helpful for this chapter in particular to reread the last one to get myself wound up properly. they did start out as one unit, after all, and seem to go together. aww... sorta like b&b!_

_thanks to last chapter's reviewers: tom's gg, bluetigress, aching bones, tempertemper, heatherberry, meleigha, danireed, brenshorter, pokerprincess7, fanofbones, mistopher, fantabulous mumrulz, and laperkin._

* * *

_What on earth is going on with you, Booth?_ _You're worked up over whether your partner, whom you've decided is best kept a friend and colleague, would somehow discern that your ex had been at her apartment and had tried to reinstate your long-dead relationship. All irrelevance aside, how could she even know? Reading people is your area of expertise, not hers._

Except... hibiscus. She knew him. He subconsciously wiped his mouth once more before following Rossi into the lab, coming very close to guiding her with his hand to her back. Damn habits. He pressed his arm to his side.

Brennan stood on the platform, huddled over bone fragments with Zack. She usually reveled in skeletal reconstructions. They felt to her like a giant, delightfully complex and _meaningful_ jigsaw puzzle, but in this occurrence, the time crunch had her a bit testy. Cam had more than once gently reminded her that the powers-that-be wanted IDs on the remains yesterday. And she had commented more than once on the impossibility of that request, and that she would have the IDs when they had finished these complicated reconstructions, not before.

She knew she was good, but Brennan admitted that it would have taken her far longer without Zack. They had been exchanging banter over the bone fragments all day, what Angela had referred to as "Vulcan speak," and the two had been so engrossed in their work that they had neglected to break for lunch. The combination of all of these stimuli had sufficiently cleared her mind of the morning's events.

She didn't hear the series of beeps behind her that signaled a new presence on the platform. The footsteps didn't register. But the low, playful voice sliced clear through her train of thought and caused her to look up.

"Whoa, that is one big, grisly jigsaw puzzle."

"What's up, Booth?" she looked up at the warm sepia eyes she'd woken up to, but they were examining the remains before her.

"We've got some evidence for you to take a look at," Booth replied, still staring at the shards on the two lit tables.

We?

For the first time she noticed the curvy form of Agent Rossi standing behind her. She thought that Booth was going to act as intermediary and keep direct contact to a minimum. She hadn't expected to see her again so soon. Brennan nodded in greeting without actually looking at her.

"What is it?"

Rossi held up a vial of clear red liquid. "It is a sample of the beverage that poisoned Agent Colombo," she lilted.

Brennan held her gloved hands in front of her and nodded toward the side of the platform. Rossi gently placed the vial on a glass desktop.

"I'll have Hodgins take a look at it when he's finished up with his mold."

Booth spoke up again, "I'm also going to send over a sample from an old case for comparison."

She noticed that he had still not looked her in the eye since he came in. Was he still irritated over her refusal to accompany him in the arrest earlier? Was it awkwardness over their kiss? Was she that bad of a kisser? Did this have to do with the secrets he was keeping from her? With Rossi's presence?

_Knock it off with the conjecture, Brennan._

Hadn't he been wearing a different suit that morning?

"It might be a while before he can get to them," she said firmly, now focusing on his darting eyes.

When they finally met, he didn't look away. It had never occurred to her that Booth usually looked at her in a most extraordinary way, absolutely connected as though she could read his thoughts like a teleprompter, until she saw his eyes come up empty. What was probably only a second felt like fifteen years and every moment of it was disconcerting.

When he finally spoke, it was quiet. "How long is a while?"

"It's hard to say. He'll probably be preoccupied until at least late this afternoon."

Booth's brows furrowed. "Hm." He slid his hands into the pockets of his pants and tilted his head to the side. "I thought you might have some mild interest in a case that might be linked to your own poisoning."

She did. More than mild, but now she was feeling the tension again. "We can't prioritize based on personal interest, Booth, and we do actually have work that doesn't pertain to the FBI, you know." Her words were calmly detached. She focused her attention back down at her bones and realized that Booth hadn't looked at Rossi the entire time he'd been here either. It made her uneasy. And churlish.

Booth left without another word.

* * *

By the end of the day, he had mellowed. Rossi had finally departed, allowing him to relax and ponder. He'd been able to catch up on paperwork, including that for the Molly Hunter case. He'd picked up a late lunch and chowed down in the atrium of the Hoover Building.

Why had he been so short with his partner all day? Fear from that soft, soul-shattering kiss? Reflected anger toward Rossi? Guilt for something that he had not even done? Well, not intentionally done in any case.

The one thing that he didn't allow his mind to mull about was his sneaking suspicion that, as anticipated, Bones had read his mind and knew exactly what had happened. He found himself frustrated at how naked that particular talent of hers made him feel. He found himself replaying the scene over and over in his head.

And he found himself missing pleasant banter and bickering with his Bones.

At quitting time, he debated picking up fast food and going straight back to Bones' pad for about ten seconds.

Then he packed up and headed toward the Jeffersonian.

Of course she's still here, he thought when he walked through the doors to find her in a nearly empty lab in almost the exact same position as when he'd left earlier. He chuckled softly and moved up to the platform.

"Still at it, Bones?" he asked gently.

She looked up at him with slightly tired eyes. "No rest for the winded."

"No rest for the _wicked,_ Bones."

"What is it with your expressions? No rest for the winded makes sense... you've been running really hard, you're out of breath, but you can't take a break."

"It's a biblical thing. I didn't make it up."

"And what's with snow on the roof? What if the person doesn't have completely white hair?"

"'Though there may be snow on the roof, there is still fire in the furnace,'" Booth quoted.

"That still makes no sense."

"Something about old folks still being useful or something."

Brennan looked down at her bones, which now looked much closer to an actual skeleton, Booth thought.

"What are you doing here, Booth?"

"Seeing if you're ready to go home. Maybe pick up some dinner on the way." He raised an eyebrow though she didn't see it.

"I need to finish this skull."

Booth stretched, arms over his head, making his torso look about three times longer than normal. "Alright. I'll just go wait in your office."

Body immobile, bent over the table with eyes peering at her work, she stated, "You should go home. I won't be done anytime soon."

"So, I'll take a nap, catch up on my reading, crack open a beer and watch the game."

"There's no TV here, Booth."

"It's a..." he stopped and sighed. "Just... do your thing. I'll be in your office."

It was a full three hours before she finished. Booth had managed to get 30 pages into _Structural Anthropology_ before dozing off, book fallen spine-up on his chest, legs stretched long on the table in front of the couch. Despite her lingering irritation, she smiled at the scene before her as she walked into her office.

Though she didn't need or even particularly want the protectiveness that was so prized in their society as a masculine ideal, it was attractive that someone who was so socially and genetically ideal focused on _her _ so often. Not for herself, she didn't need a boost to her self-esteem, but it said something about the man that he didn't take the path of least resistance. He could have chosen an easier line of work, found a subservient and adoring mate, flirted and charmed his way into nearly anything he wanted. For a well-structured alpha male such as himself, these things would have been thrown at his feet. But he chose a line of work that challenged him, he stretched his mind as much as his well-toned muscles.

Okay, so he'd fallen asleep fairly quickly into Levi-Strauss' fundamental volume on structural anthropology. He was a cop. She was impressed that he'd picked it up in the first place.

It was attractive that he had such a driving passion for putting criminals away. And it was impressive that, ignoring society's expectations, he expressed his protectiveness over someone who infuriated and challenged him as a matter of habit, someone who became so irritated by that protectiveness.

He stirred. The sepias looked up at her. "You look like a train wreck."

"Oh, thank you."

"Of course."

"It's been a long day," she said slightly defensively.

He glanced at his watch. "I'll say. When's the last time you ate?"

She thought back. Breakfast. "I could handle some food."

Booth took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "I don't know what's open at this hour."

Something warred inside Brennan for a moment, famished won. "Let's just hit a drive-thru and get burgers."

Unsurprisingly giving no argument, he leapt up from the couch, replacing the book on her shelf. Brennan's eyelids felt heavy.

"I don't know if I'll be able to stay awake behind the wheel."

"That's because you've been overworking yourself while you're still recovering," he shot a look at her. "I'll drive."

* * *

Brennan was too tired and hungry for the responsible vegetarian in her head to put up much of a fight and, after getting the green light from Hodgins' machine, she chowed down hungrily, finishing her cheeseburger and fries in no time. The building ache in her head suggested that she skip the beer. Booth had two to make up for her temperance.

When the partners hit the spot in the hallway outside the guest room, next to the photo of herself and her brother at the beach, Booth pulled her into a warm hug. She didn't relax right away.

"I'm sorry for being so snippy today," his voice hummed through his chest into her ear.

A long breath and a thought later, she softened into the comfortable arms wrapped around her. "Me too."

"Goodnight." They released each other and went into their rooms.

In bed, she decided that Booth was right, that she had overworked herself. Rather, the steady pounding in her head was bellowing that particular bulletin. She knew that a massage would spirit her straight to dreamland, but they had already gone too far down that path for their current relationship. She took a double dose of pain medication and fell into an uneasy sleep.

She didn't rest well, and was not ready for the morning when it arrived.

* * *

_you have no idea how close i came to saying "abstention" instead of "temperance."_

_if you review, i'll kiss it and make it all better. next chapter brings answers to many of your 'historical' questions. also fluff! you know how much you love fluff, so leave me some love!  
_


	12. History

_it's been a while since we've had any kind of smuttage in this story, so i wrote a little one shot that i posted a little bit ago called "cuffs aren't so bad." brennan is horny and she confiscates booth's handcuffs, and after that it's pretty much pure smut. so go check that out if you haven't already._

_Big thanks to tempertemper, heatherberry, bella-mi-amore, danireed, laperkin, bluetigress, daniellelovesbones, meleigha, mumrulz the fantastical, fanofbones, bonesignii, tom's gg, ttuzz, mistopher, & bonesdbchippie for their great reviews!_

* * *

Bacon greeted her nostrils.

Mmmmm.

_No! _ shouted the vegetarian in her head. _Not mmmm. Bacon is bad!_

But mmmmmm.

Then the smell of kona coffee wafted past. Every cell in her being could agree on that.

Head still sensitive, she moved down the hallway, letting her pajama pants drag along the hardwood floor.

Booth looked up from the stove at the woman entering the kitchen with her clothes wrinkled, eyes puffy and half-closed, and hair falling akimbo from a ponytail.

"Morning, gorgeous."

"Coffee," she grunted.

Booth pointed at a steaming mug next to the machine. Cream, no sugar. Perfect.

"Sleep well?"

She sipped cautiously. It was just the right temperature. "No."

Booth frowned.

She replied to his unspoken question, "My head."

Booth's frown deepened. "Should it still be hurting this much? Maybe you should go see the doctor again."

"It's fine. Head injuries can inspire pain for quite a while after the fact."

"I don't like it."

"Well, it's not your head."

"I still don't like it."

She sighed and dropped into a chair. "I suppose the poisoning didn't help."

"No, it wouldn't."

Brennan looked at him fixedly, but he'd turned back to the stove. Every time the poisoning came up in conversation with her partner, something inside her began poking. She couldn't figure out what was bothering her, but she had a sneaking suspicion that Booth was in a position to answer the question. Poke poke.

Was he keeping something from her? If so, what? She wanted to know, but didn't want to ask. Poke.

He slid two eggs over-easy onto her plate and dropped a couple slices of toast next to them. Bones was looking at him as though trying to pry something from his head. His brain went on alert, as though that could stop what he assumed were her psychic powers. Any moment now, he was certain, his eyes would betray Rossi's actions in the hallway, she would throw him out of her apartment in disgust and refuse to ever work with him again.

But she said nothing. She bent her head to the plate and inhaled, then reached for a jar of blackberry preserves.

* * *

Dr. Brennan walked into her office to find an agent sitting across from her desk, slender legs crossed in a fitted skirt. Her long, gently curling hair fell into the chasm on display at the front of her tight button-down shirt.

"Doctor Brennan," Rossi said in her low, rich voice.

"Agent Rossi," Brennan once again nodded her greeting. "Nice shirt. You raiding the children's section at Target?"

"JC Penney has a 'Whiny Bitch' department." The way her accent released the sentence left Brennan thinking about drunkards tripping in the sand. Rossi tilted her head and looked her up and down. "They _might _ carry your size."

Brennan sighed. This was all she needed after a poor night's sleep that had not fully released her head from it's grasp.

"What can I do for you this fine morning?"

"I was wondering if you received the samples Agent Booth and I sent over yesterday."

"They arrived," she stated simply. Brennan felt like making Rossi drive the conversation.

"Has your Doctor... Hodkins..."

"Hodgins."

"...Doctor Hodgins done an analysis?"

"He has been preoccupied. You'll just have to be patient."

"Patience was never one of my strong suits."

"Oh, well this should be an excellent opportunity for you to practice."

The two stared at each other for a moment. Brennan's curiosity submitted.

"What are these samples you've sent over?"

"They are from an old arsenic case in Quantico." The city's name pulsed a swing beat as it left her mouth.

"Old... as in... when you were there?" Brennan jabbed. "Or when Booth was there?"

They were two questions, but Rossi only answered once.

"Yes."

Poke poke.

"How long will these tests take to complete?" Rossi's disinclination toward patience was showing already.

"That depends on Dr. Hodgins' workload and the content and quality of the samples you provided us."

"Agent Booth assured me that you were the best."

"Yes," Brennan put her hands on her hips.

"And very modest."

"Terribly."

"But you will not rush the evidence," Rossi spoke as though interpreting Brennan's posture.

Brennan grimaced and crossed the office back to where she had deposited her purse. "We are good at what we do because we do it properly." She began poking though it.

"Is there a problem?" Rossi asked.

The anthropologist pulled out a bottle of pills.

"You give me headaches."

The corners of Rossi's mouth twitched upward as she pulled out her card and scrawled on the back. "Once you _get around to _checking the evidence, call my cell phone."

Brennan's jaw twitched as she watched the agent sway from her office. She stood still for thirty seconds and then picked up a block of post-it notes and hurled it at the door Agent Rossi had just exited.

Three detached and stuck. The rest tumbled to the floor.

* * *

A large man with a gravelly voice sat by a phone. it rang. He answered.

"Yes?"

"Like before?" The voice on the other end began without introduction. Incredulous. Irritated. "Really?"

"Why mess with what works?"

"Because it didn't work, and it makes it damn easy to get caught."

"They've never managed to pin anything on me before."

"You used something different. It is not what I told you to do."

"I was out of scratch. I had to improvise."

The phone buzzed with quiet for a long while.

"There was a hitch, though," said gravel.

An inaudible eyebrow raise from the other end of the line carried without the visual.

"He survived."

"I thought that you were thorough." Icy.

"The old coot's tough."

"I was under the _impression _ that you shared that trait."

"Don't worry. I'll take care of it."

"Yes, you will."

* * *

Two hours after her departure, Brennan picked up the small rectangle that Rossi had left on her desk and checked the number on the back. She'd written the 1s like a true European, each serif stretching long, reaching for it's roots.

She wanted so badly to not call her, but Hodgins had found something. She could call Booth and have him relay the message, but it was foolish to avoid calling Rossi just because she didn't like her, and it wasn't even Booth's case.

In the end she sent a text message. Rossi was at the lab in twenty minutes.

"You are saying that this is the same poison that was used on Agent Booth and Doctor Brennan?"

"No, no they were definitely not hit with rat poison. Theirs was a higher grade, probably made in Belgium."

"Belgium?" Angela asked. "Like the chocolate?"

"Yeah, that form isn't made in the states. The particular grade and the substances used to cut the arsenic powder suggest Belgium. It's high-class stuff, not cheap." He looked to Brennan, "Whoever dosed you had the moneyflow to make this happen."

"Multimillionaire moneyflow?"

"For this stuff?" Hodgins shrugged, "Nah, regular millionaire moneyflow would do it. Hey, didn't Sweets say that Gormogon would be wealthy?"

"Jack." Brennan sighed and reigned him back in like a stubborn child, "Rossi's samples?"

"Right. This poison," he indicated the half-empty vial of red liquid, "the one used on Agent Columbo, contains arsenic, quinine salt, and sodium fluoride. All of which are fairly common, and aren't expensive at all."

"Perhaps he ran out of the good stuff when he was poisoning Booth and Dr. Brennan," Cam theorized.

"But get this," Hodgins spoke up enthusiastically. "Each of those ingredients I mentioned in Columbo's poison, as well as a half dozen others, are in the same concentrations as those in your old Quantico sample. It's the same composition."

"How close are the levels?" Brennan questioned, "Are we talking same brand?"

"I mean _exact_ same composition. We're talking same _bucket._ I'm still working on identifying some unknown particulates, but these poisons may have been planted by the same person."

"A decade apart?" Brennan asked incredulously.

Hodgins' hands went up in self-defense. "Hey, I just process the evidence."

As they spoke, he observed Agent Rossi turning and walking toward the lab's exit without a word.

"You're welcome," Hodgins muttered sardonically.

With ears of a hawk, Rossi turned at the base of the stairs, smiled, and curtsied, before turning to leave once again.

Hodgins looked back at the others and blinked, clearly uncertain what to think.

Brennan's cell phone chirped from her pocket. "Brennan."

"Lunch?" asked a smiling voice on the other end.

* * *

As Booth motored them in the direction of a little Indian restaurant, she explained Hodgins' comparisons of the poisons.

Poke poke.

And by the time she'd finished, she finally admitted it to herself; he was holding out on her. It was not just artful dodging, it felt like her partner didn't trust her with the information. Whatever that information was. Something to do with Rossi and everything to do with his knowledge of arsenic, he'd shrouded from her. She'd wondered if he'd ever come so close to blatant lying with her before.

Of course he'd withheld details about his past as a sniper, but he'd offered to share the info in the end, warning that she really didn't want to know what he'd done. When she examined herself, she decided that he was right. She wanted to think of him as the Booth she knew, the Booth she truly believed him to be. She didn't want to know what horrors he had done in the name of war.

Not just yet.

And he also hadn't been forthcoming about his relationship with Cam. She'd felt a little betrayed by that, but it was nothing more than a relationship. A discreet and ill-advised work relationship. Actually, she thought, it was little more than discreet satisfying of biological urges. That particular vibe had gotten across. And she knew how self-conscious Booth felt about sex.

He had no need to be. She knew that intelligent alpha males with a certain confidence and a certain amount of sexual history tended to be fairly skilled.

She'd also caught a glimpse of how his jeans solidly bulged from certain angles. It made her twitch slightly whenever she noticed it. She would always chastise herself for the reaction.

But what he was holding back now was information that could be pertinent to a case. It wasn't information about a secret tryst.

Was it?

There was history between Booth and Rossi. Sexual history was likely. And she was becoming certain that he had changed clothes the previous day, before showing up with the exceedingly voluptuous agent.

Was it a sexual present?

If so, then it wasn't her business, though the thought sent her heart plummeting to her toes. But the arsenic _was _ her business. Poke poke. Just one more time.

"Booth, how do you know so much about arsenic?"

"Hodgins knows a surprising amount about arsenic."

"That's his job."

"Well, it's mine too. I work homicides. People get poisoned."

Enough. She shut down. "Fine. If you don't want to tell me," she drifted off cooly.

Booth looked at her and considered her demeanor for a moment, then put the pieces together. Wait, she was irritated about that? Not psychic knowledge of Rossi being at her place?

"Okay, Bones, look. The arsenic case at Quantico... it was while I was there. Somehow, someone managed to poison the food in the dining hall. I was eating lunch with my little cousin and... well, it wasn't pretty. Twenty-three of us wound up in the hospital."

"Your experience with arsenic is personal?" Brennan was horrified.

"A few of my buddies didn't make it," he said quietly.

Silence. "I'm sorry." Brennan paused hesitantly, "Your cousin?"

"She pulled through, thank God, but she's had health problems ever since."

She looked at his profile as he drove. His eyes were tense and his throat constricted.

"They never caught the sonofabitch, which was a big deal since it was such a secure facility."

Brennan suddenly remembered what Rossi had said to her that morning. "Rossi was at the Academy at the same time as you?"

"Yeah," he looked over at her hesitantly. "We... dated while we were there." Dated, Seeley? Fucked each others' brains out, you mean. "It wasn't a good idea, she was very possessive and became rather irate when I broke it off."

Brennan felt a slight release in her chest. Not a sexual present. "She was poisoned too?"

"No. The event happened shortly after we broke up and she was kind of keeping her distance, eating at different times, eating off the base. So she missed out on that particular 'training activity.'"

"And it's the same poison that was used on Colombo," she stated.

"Yes."

"And could have been by the same person who poisoned us."

"Yes."

"Who was slick enough to break onto a base full of federal agents, and to break into your apartment undetected."

"Yes."

A chill stole through her. They sat quietly for a few minutes.

"Why didn't you tell me before?" A little hurt.

He sighed and replied quietly, "I'm not particularly fond of reliving it."

"Sorry."

"No, you're right. I should have told you."

"No... well, yes you should have, but I meant that unfortunately you _did _ relive it. And not just from memories."

"This time was different."

"How?"

_I had to watch it happen to you,_ he thought with a twinge in his stomach_._ "It felt different. This is going to sound odd, but it felt... cleaner. Like the difference between a beer buzz and a whisky one, only a hell of a lot less pleasant."

"'Whisky's a slap on the back, and champagne's heavy mist before my eyes,'" she quoted.

Booth raised his finger, mouth open and eyes squinting with something on the tip of his tongue. Finally he snapped his fingers. _"Philadelphia Story."_

"Very good."

The irony hit him that while she shunned most pop culture, she knew the most trivia about old movies of anyone he knew.

"So which was our poison?"

"Whisky. Harsher."

"Makes sense. Ours was a purer form. I think I would have preferred beer, or champagne, personally."

As a matter of fact, given her current relief at Booth finally spilling his secret, the fact that her head hadn't hurt since Rossi had left her office, and with the confidence that the psychotic bitch was probably not boinking her partner, a drink sounded like a very good idea.

Booth chuckled. "Speaking of which, what do you say we hit the liquor store on the way home tonight?"

"You read my mind."

* * *

_yeah... i know i quoted another kate/cary movie, but it fit. i claim no rights to the philadelphia story, incidentally. just really like it.  
_

_once again, one chapter has become two. which means that if you leave me love i will post the next chapter very very soon, in which b&b get hammered. woohoo!  
_

_seriously. click the button! say hi!_


	13. Intoxicating

_aww! you ppl make me blush!! such sweet reviews._

_on to the glug glug woohoo!_

* * *

"Okay, Bones. Tonight, we begin your education." He opened her laptop and squinted up his eyes in amplified concentration as he removed a disc from a plastic case.

"Booth," she argued blurrily across her coffee table and a score of empty beer bottles, "every time we watch TV, it makes me feel wonky afterwards."

He turned to her, eyes crinkling in an adorably drunken, disbelieving smile. "Wonky?"

"Yes," she spoke high and her voice cracked.

He spoke each word with emphasis, "That is the most rid, reddick, riddickerlous thing I've ever heard." Now he focused intently on inserting the disc into the slot on Brennan's computer.

She laughed, "Riddickerlous!"

Booth finally succeeded and carefully made his way to a spot on the couch beside her.

"Whadisit?"

"Whadiswhat?"

"The DVD."

"This," he gestured wildly at the screen, "is Columbo."

"The man?"

"The TV show."

"Oh."

"So now you will have _no excuse _ to forget the name."

"Okay." She wobbled in her seat. "Still gonna be wonky."

"No, really, Bones, it's _relaxing_ to watch TV. You escape from all of the murder and mayhem that you face all day into a world of," he paused and scrunched up his face, "murder and mayhem."

Brennan raised her eyebrows.

"But it's fun!" he cried defensively.

Brennan looked back to the computer as an FBI warning filled the screen. "Hey! It's you!"

"Nuh uh." Booth reverted to child-speak.

_"Yuh huh," _Brennan teased, pointing at the computer. "The Federrural Burro of Vestigation!"

He rolled with laughter. "Burro! I'm going to tell Cullen about that."

"No, you're not."

"No, I'm not."

The screen went black.

"Uh oh! You're gone."

"Bones," his voice was high as he snatched her hand, "I'm right here."

He looked at her with about as much seriousness as he could manage given his inebriated state, which wasn't much, and pressed her hand clumsily to his cheek.

"Oh," she said simply, looking in his shining eyes.

At that moment, the DVD's menu screen popped to the screen and music began to play.

Having quite forgotten her misgivings about the numbing properties of television, she cried, "Clumsy-o!"

"Columbo, Bones!"

* * *

_"Columbo, you are magnificent. You really are."_

_"Well, what makes you say that, Doc?"_

_"You are the most persistent creature I've ever met, but likeable. The astonishing thing is you're likeable. Has anyone ever told you you're droll?"_

_"Who? Me?"_

_"Yes, you."_

_"Oh, come on, Doc. Come on."_

_"Oh, but you are. You're a sly little elf, and you should be sitting under your own private little toadstool. You say you're off the case and yet you have the flagrant audacity to come back here and bother me again. I respect that. It irritates me, but I respect it."_

* * *

Usually, when drunk, Booth wandered, finding random tasks for himself like resetting microwave clocks that blinked 12:00 and reorganizing others' sock drawers. He never wanted to settle, so he would avoid sitting or lying down at all costs.

Not tonight. Tonight the floor was his best friend.

By the end of the first episode, Booth had slid to the soft carpet and leaned against the couch, sprawled on the floor with his head resting on his partner's bare feet, and stretched to feel his weight sink into the floor.

He sat up to push the button on the computer to start the next episode and melted back into a recline against her warm legs. How could she stay so still? Had she fallen asleep?

Booth leaned his head back into her lap and looked up at her face. The blues were open. They looked down at him and grinned. Her smile, he thought, was as grounding to him as bedrock, as glaciers, as the still earth. He smiled back.

When she felt the comfortable weight of his head fall back again into her lap, her fingers stretched forward. She wanted her turn at giving one of those zen-like head massages.

Her digits crawled up his head, a languid meander, and she felt his neck loll.

"Mmmm... hey," Booth argued feebly, "That's my job."

A smirk. She removed her hands suddenly. "Suit yourself."

A growl. Booth snagged her wrists with surprising deftness and pressed a very slightly open-mouthed kiss to the inside of each. He placed them back on his head.

A tingle. Her fingers worked their way through his thick hair.

* * *

_"Uh, Mrs. Williams?"_

_"Yes?"_

_"Uh, Lieutenant Columbo, local police." He introduced himself. "I, uh, seem to have dropped my pen out here somewhere."_

_"Just a minute. Would you like some help?"_

_"Oh, no, that won't be necessary. Thank you very much. I'll... I'll just take another quick look, uh..."_

_"I can get a flashlight."_

_"Oh, really, don't bother. It's all right. I, uh, I've got some matches."_

_"It's no trouble."_

_"Oh, really, it's really not that important. It's just a pen. You see, it was engraved. That was the only reason. But I'll buy another one, and I'll have that one engraved. You see, the pen itself was worthless, uh..."_

_"Is that it?"_

_"Where?"_

_"There."_

_"Oh. No."_

_"No?"_

_"Is everything all right, Mrs. Williams?"_

_"Lieutenant Columbo's lost his pen."_

Brennan spoke above his head, "Is he drunk?"

Booth laughed. "No, that's you."

"Oh." She said it as though it were new information.

* * *

_The multitude of police officers in the woman's living room packed up and all exchanged goodbyes as they left._

_"Well, Lieutenant, I guess that's it for tonight. ... Lieutenant?"_

_Columbo finally turned to discover himself in an empty room that had just been full of people._

_"Let's call it a night, huh?"_

_"Oh. Hey, sorry, I... thinking and... unique woman."_

_"What's that?"_

_"Oh, you see, uh... she's an exceptional woman."_

_"Oh. What do you mean?"_

_"Well, when the phone rang, you know, she ran to the phone, she picked up the receiver, and, uh... she never asked her-her-her... her husband if he was all right."_

_"I don't see anything strange about that. The woman was frightened. She was under stress."_

_"That's right, yes. She... she was. She was under stress. Right. See, I just can't help thinkin' though, but... if I was in the hands of kidnappers and my wife didn't ask me if I was okay, uh... I'd think about that."_

_"What's your point, Lieutenant?"_

_"Point? No, no, no. No point. Just that, uh, she's a unique person."_

_"Good night, Lieutenant."_

_"Yeah, good night. Good night." He mumbled to himself on the way out the door._

Brennan piped up again.

"So it's not really a whodidit show."

"Whodunnit."

"But they show you right away that the wife killed him. What's the fun in that? I mean, we get all the evidence from the body and then we get a warrant and go find the crime scene or whatever and discover the identity of the murderer-ess. This way isn't how it works."

"It's realistic from the standpoint of the murderer or," he chuckled, "_murdereress_ cause they know that they did it the whole time, and somehow, so does Columbo."

"So he uses his gut?"

"Yes!"

"When good n'vestigation of the body could have produced quicker results."

He paused. Leave it to her to analyze a television show while hammered. "It's fiction, Bones."

"And he's drunk."

"He's not drunk, Bones. He's just... eccentric. It catches people off-guard." Speaking of drunk and off-guard, Booth was now, he realized, completely at the mercy of his partner's nimble hands.

Her hands waltzed through his hair. His eyes drifted shut like the door behind a recently-admitted lover. She pressed the pads of her fingers gently into the base of his skull. And, like the lover pressed back against the door, sweet pleasure pressed the inside of his eyelids.

There was no way that she hadn't done this before.

He exhaled long and slow. "You're pretty good at that, you know."

"I have talented hands."

Booth couldn't quite suppress his moan. She really didn't know what she did to him, did she? Or was she teasing him? Booth focused on the detective and his perpetually unlit cigar flickering on the screen in front of him to fight the tingling in his hips.

As the detective sought the evidence to support his hunch, Booth found himself under the impression that he was in just the opposite situation. Something inside him nagged that all the evidence to solve the case was within his grasp, but the conclusion still teasingly eluded him. He would have been frustrated by it had he not alcohol running swiftly through his veins and his partner's hands driving him crazy. He couldn't help but let out little pleased vocalizations every once in a while.

Brennan smiled at the noises he made. And at the thought that Rossi was firmly situated in his sexual history. As much as his continued protectiveness irritated her, she couldn't help but admit that he was simply good company. Very attractive, very exasperating good company.

Her inebriated mind wandered. She indulged herself and pretended that they were actually a couple. What would this evening have been like? They probably would have fixed dinner at home together. They would have shared comfortable and affectionate bickering over their meal, would have had a few drinks and let themselves relax. They'd have settled on the couch to placate Booth's desire for her to see an old TV show, and they wouldn't be able to refrain from contact.

She had just described the evening she was currently experiencing.

But no, if they were actually a couple, there would have been more touch. She would have kissed the cook and the pasta would have boiled over before they stopped. She would have finagled her bare feet under his at the dining room table to keep them warm. He would have rested his head in her lap rather than on her feet and when her fingers began massaging his scalp, his head would have pressed in the direction of her hips.

She ran her hands along his neck and he breathed softly.

It wouldn't have been long before they would have made their way to her bedroom. She wouldn't need to dream about his hands on her, his mouth, his firm bare chest. They would be hers. And she would sleep as peacefully as she had on those few nights that she'd happened into his arms.

* * *

The next thing she knew, the lights were out and she was on her side on the couch. Her head was laying on a cushion and a blanket was tucked in around her. The laptop lay closed on the coffee table, no longer accompanied by beer bottles. Craning her neck, she could see that the door to the guest room was closed and the clock on the bookshelf glowed 2:45.

She sighed emptily, gathered the blanket and made her way to her bedroom in the moonlight. She couldn't help but let her fingers graze Booth's door as she passed.

* * *

_sigh... come on, you two, get your act together! oh wait, this is my story. come on, me, get their act together! do you like the fluff? i know, kinda sad, but we will very soon be getting around to some more drama, excitement and action! and yes, smuff. you know it will be there._

_i claim no rights to columbo._

_okay, now it's time to click the button and leave a review! cuz i work hard, and i heart hearing all your thoughts._


	14. Old Wounds

_so, i said this story would be 20-24 chapters before and i can now guarantee that it will be more than that. _

_a general rule: never ever listen to me when i give a number of chapters. i have an outline, but as it grows and morphs i keep shifting the chapter markers. current estimate is somewhere around 30. of course, i also just told you not to listen to my estimates, so, um, ignore that. i'll tell you better when we're getting closer to the end. for those of you wailing in despair at what may seem to make the smut farther away, keep in mind i am also expanding and splitting smut chapters. ;)_

_i heart my reviewers. you peeps are the awesomest ever and make me want to keep writing when my motivation flags. thank you thank you to last chapter's heroes: mumrulz the brilliant, bluetigress, insert something memorable, aching bones, tempertemper, sassafrasford, n02e08k89, kari43, heatherberry, laperkin, tom's gg, sunny78, gorgeousgummybear, fanofbones, danireed, nanenu and mia101!_

* * *

He knew that she had fallen asleep, but it wasn't until the end of the second episode that he could handle pulling himself from her stilled hands on his neck to verify. A contented grin crossed his features as he gently eased her to her side on the couch, then set about cleaning up as quietly as he could. When he'd finished, he looked at her for a moment, decided that he couldn't bear to wake her and considered carrying her to her room.

He imagined her response to waking up in her bed with no memory of getting there after a drunken evening with the man about whom she'd had repeated sex dreams.

Then, even more frightening, he considered her response should she awaken in the process of putting her to bed in the way he would his six-year-old son.

Probably best to let her sleep here.

* * *

Booth was actually impressed that he'd escaped with only a mild headache from the pleasant evening he'd spent. While his tolerance was still nothing to scoff at, he had long ago recognized that his body couldn't hold up as well as it once could.

He smirked. In some departments, anyway.

He firmly believed that some things got better with age. Like fine wine. Beer had its charms, but there was absolutely nothing that could beat a nice pinot, aged about 31 years, with long reddish-brown hair and ardent, soul-piercing blue eyes...

_Dammit, Booth. Get a grip on yourself._

He loosened his tie and set about to delve into a pile of forms.

_In this world nothing can be said to be certain, except death and taxes. _ -Benjamin Franklin. _And paperwork._ -Seeley Booth.

A particularly large stack was calling his name when long legs sauntered into the top of his field of vision.

He looked up. "Rossi."

"Seeley," she replied in greeting, straightening her bold red button-down top. "I thought you would like to know that my team has just arrested Robert Duncan for the poisoning of Agent Columbo."

"Really," he said surprised. "That was quick. Do you have evidence on this guy for the Quantico poisoning as well?"

"We do."

Booth's shoulders relaxed a bit. And drooped. "It's really good to hear that."

"There was never enough information back then, you recall. But when Doctor Hodgkins..."

"Hodgins."

"...Doctor Hodgins confirmed the link, we were able to combine the evidence we had on both cases and," she gave him a conspiratorial smile, "we had him. I will send evidence over to the Jeffersonian to compare to what you have on your case."

"Some of the grime from his shoes," he pondered.

"Yes. Perhaps we have caught the one person responsible for both incidents. All three, rather."

"Thanks. Good work, Rossi."

"Ciao Bellissimo."

She disappeared from his doorway. The space was shortly filled by another agent.

"So Booth," he started hesitantly.

"Yeah, Charlie?"

"I, uh, heard a rumor that you knew Rossi back at the Academy."

The look Booth shot him could have turned lava instantly to igneous rock.

"You want some coffee?" Charlie asked quickly. _At least the kid knew when to quit. _ "They just got some of those flavored syrups in the kitchen."

Booth breathed and willed the irritation to drain from his system. "You know how much I love syrup, but for heaven's sake, not in my coffee."

The younger agent ran off to fetch the caffeine.

Booth felt disquiet run through his veins. It was good news that she'd caught the bastard responsible for Art and the rat poison incident all those years ago. There would finally be answers for the families of his friends who hadn't made it. But part of him didn't like the fact that she'd beaten him to it. Especially if she'd just solved his case as well.

He sighed and settled into his papers.

* * *

Lunch with Angela turned out to be a very good idea. It had been a while since the two friends had gabbed so completely, and while the artist was a world-class talker, she was an even better listener.

Brennan finally unloaded all that had been building up over the last few weeks. Sleeping so restfully with someone else when she was so used to having her own space; the new feeling of trust that left parts of her so unnerved; frustration at Booth's insistence on being the alpha; her immeasurable subconscious libido; adoration of his cooking; anxiety over Rossi; irritation at her relentless injury; the details of Booth's incident in Quantico; her mental indulgence from the night before. And, above all, how she could possibly maintain what she was sure was the best partnership she would ever know.

Brennan was glad that her friend was calmly rational. And in the end, they had been in agreement.

* * *

The city was all abuzz around her as she walked back to the Jeffersonian by herself. Her mind was nearly as noisy. So noisy, in fact, that she almost missed Angela telling her that she had to run a few errands and would meet her back at work later. She spoke her see you soon with a smile.

Faces flashed before her face. Her family. Past lovers. Sully. Angela. Her squints. And interspaced between each face was an angular one with marked smile lines, frown lines, and those sepia eyes that spoke volumes. His tongue darted out to lick his lips. She twitched. Could she handle her decision?

Her feet stopped at the streetlight across from the medico-legal lab, and she slowly followed the crowd of people returning from their lunch breaks when the light changed. Cam had spoken to her once about letting things ruminate in her head, and for the first time in her life she was there. She let thoughts rise and fall like waves on the ocean. The rush of the water filled her ears. It occurred to her that Booth would laugh at her using such a metaphor. A swell rose to her left, to her right. The one on the right was becoming loud.

And then she was jarringly brought back to the present. The wave to her right had materialized. Her heart stopped. A dark car was heading right for her and accelerating. Her mind, still waking up, was frozen.

A flash of red from behind her and she found herself flung onto the sidewalk. The grinding engine zipped past and was gone.

Brennan's lungs refused to work as she lay on the concrete, palms down. Her heart, however, had resumed beating and was now throwing itself frantically against her ribcage as though trying to escape. Her blood surged through her veins as though on fire. _Calm, _she told herself. _Relax and your breath will return._ She was alive and functional, against the odds.

She could hear her rescuer breathing sharply to her left, then a low angry lilt spit from her mouth.

_"Testa di cazzo!"_

Rossi muttered a long, irritated string of what Brennan assumed were Italian expletives, rubbed her elbow over the ruby-colored shirt and then turned to her with her deep accent. "Doctor Brennan, you are alright?"

She finally caught the breath that had been scampering away from her, spent a few seconds relishing the return of oxygen and checked herself over. "It appears so, but the adrenaline will be blocking my pain receptors for a while."

"Yes," the agent gave her a look she couldn't decipher. "Adrenaline is very convenient in that way."

Brennan tested her lungs again, then said, "It has nothing to do with convenience, actually. That response has developed over millions of years as a method for organisms to cope with immediate danger."

Rossi looked at her for a moment in grim silence.

"Um, thank you. I guess I wasn't paying attention."

"We all have moments when we get lost in our thoughts, no?" The words sounded sympathetic, her voice did not.

"I guess so."

"Did you get a look at the driver?"

"No," Brennan said, embarrassed. She chastised herself. _This is what you get when you take yourself out of the moment!_

Rossi looked down at where her suit's skirt had torn along the seam. _"Porca miseria!" _she cursed as she looked at her newly exposed thigh. Her rather strong thigh, Brennan noted. "I must be going. I trust you are able to make it back to your lab safely?"

"Yes. Thank you again."

Rossi nodded and rose. Two agents who had been trailing Brennan, she noted now with only mild irritation, rushed up to where they'd fallen. Rossi spoke briefly with them and left. One rushed off. The other helped her up and escorted her the rest of the way back to her lab.

* * *

She was certain that her head hadn't hit the pavement, but it must not have gotten the memo. It was beginning to throb as though it had. She pressed forward on her John Doe, only letting Zack take over while she went to pop a few pills.

When she finally looked up from her bones, nearly all of Brennan's crack team had assembled. They stood in a haphazard circle, light streaming down from the skylight to illuminate the platform. Rossi stood near but a little back from Booth across the way from her, now clad in black slacks. The scene gave her the fleeting impression of an all-star lineup preparing for action.

And she couldn't put her finger on what it was, but Booth looked a little bit deflated.

Hodgins beeped his way up onto the platform.

Booth aimed at him, "So what's the good word?"

"We have a match," he said. "The mud from the bottom of Duncan's shoes has the same levels of silica, alumina, and sodium sulfate as the footprints from your kitchen floor."

"Are those really rare enough to be able to identify as being from the same shoes?" Brennan asked.

Hodgins stepped to a monitor and called up a chart. "The individual elements aren't all that rare, but in these compositions, and in addition to other trace evidence I found, aluminum and steel fragments, I'm confident in saying that Duncan's shoes had the right chemical makeup to have made the prints from Booth's kitchen."

"While it is compelling evidence, it's hardly a smoking gun," Brennan pointed out.

Rossi finally spoke, "Hopefully we should acquire more conclusive evidence when we search his house. I am just waiting to hear from the judge." Her phone chirped and she looked at the display, smirking. "Speaking of which..."

Rossi answered and moved away from the rest of them to answer her cell. The group split up into smaller pods, Booth came to stand near Brennan.

She smiled at him, "We may have gotten our man."

"Rossi may have gotten our man," Booth corrected.

"But it's good news to have the guy in custody, yeah?"

"Yeah," Booth's tone suggested he was either unconvinced or distracted.

Brennan spent a few moments pondering. "You don't want to be shown up by a woman," she groaned, disappointed.

"No," he spoke clearly, "I don't want to be shown up by _her_. I have no problem being shown up by _you." _ He shot her a giant smile in spite of his mood.

"Don't charm smile me," she retorted in a mild snap. She immediately regretted answering so abruptly when she noticed that anything sudden seemed to rile the pain in her head. All the same, Booth's smile calmed her.

The sound of Rossi's cell phone snapping shut reverberated in Brennan's skull. Listening to at anything at all was becoming increasingly unpleasant.

"The judge just issued the warrant for Duncan's home."

Booth clapped his hands, sending echoes bouncing, "Ha! Alright!" He turned, walking backwards as he spoke. "You coming, Bones?"

She stood there quietly, feeling her head's pace increasing.

Booth returned to her side and placed his hand under her elbow. "Bones? You alright?"

"Yeah," her voice cracked. "My head's kinda hurting again."

Booth frowned. "We shouldn't have had so much to drink last night."

"No, it's not that. I mean, I felt fine this morning. I just," she paused, "I had a close call with a," she struggled with the words, "fast-moving car after lunch today. Rossi had to push me out of the way."

Booth looked up at Rossi, who had also returned from the top of the steps.

"We never got a look at the driver and there were no plates on the car. Blake lost it after a few blocks. Though I suspect it might have been nothing more than a lousy DC driver."

Booth looked back to Brennan again, brow furrowed, eyes laced with concern. "You hit your head again?" His hand drifted near her ear and he touched her hair softly.

"No, but it's been twingeing since I got back." _Twingeing? You are the world's biggest liar, Brennan._

He exhaled. "Well, go lie down. I'm going to see what i can do to get out of here early today."

Brennan began to speak, "Booth, you don't have to..."

"Stop." He looked at her firmly. It seemed like dialog was running through his head but not making it to his mouth for a few seconds. "I'm taking you to the doctor tomorrow morning too."

She tried for one second to glare at him but it hurt and she winced. Her hand flew to cover her eyes.

"Come on," he said as he took her elbow again and led her off the platform and into her office, depositing her on the couch before instructing Angela to keep an eye on her once again. He left the lab with Rossi trailing, hips swaying dangerously.

* * *

"Seeley."

He'd been poking around the kitchen for twenty minutes before Rossi called to him from the bedroom. He was there in moments.

Rossi looked up at him when he entered and indicated an open drawer that sagged under it's own weight. Amongst the unfolded socks inside, her pen had uncovered a small, oddly-shaped glass vial of white powder.

"Cocaine?" he wondered aloud.

"I don't know about that. How often do you see drugs in this kind of container?"

Booth admitted that it wasn't one he'd ever seen. After searching a bit longer, he finally suggested that they get the vial to the lab for testing.

She called a technician over and began filling out a form to have it delivered to the FBI lab.

"Rossi. What do you say we send this to the Jeffersonian on the off chance it's something a bit more sinister than narcotics?"

"You think this may be your poison?"

"I wouldn't rule it out. And Hodgins would be the one to verify it."

Rossi agreed and filled out the form, sending it on it's way.

* * *

Two hours after he had left, Booth was walking back into the medico-legal lab. Hodgins was at his station with Zack. They both stared at a screen, pointing at it occasionally and making short comments that he couldn't hear. Angela was at the edge of the platform facing Brennan's office with a portable touchscreen notepad, stylus flying. Cam was nowhere to be seen.

"Hey Booth," Angela addressed him as he approached. "I've been keeping an eye on Brennan. She's resting now. Hasn't talked shop a jot since you left."

Something about that felt odd to Booth. A foul foreboding cloud had been looming over him since he'd left with Rossi, and now the fact that she was obeying orders made him uneasy.

"Give me a hand bringing her out to the car, will you?"

"Sure." Angela laid down her notepad and followed him through the glass doors.

"Alright, Bones. Time to go home," Booth clapped his hands together lightly. "How bout we pick up some Thai on the way?"

Brennan did not reply.

Booth approached quietly. "You asleep, Bones?" he asked softly. As he rounded to see her face, however, it was clear that her eyes were open and aimed in the direction of the table, unfocused. She was sitting upright, shoulders lightly slumped back against the couch.

Booth's stomach flip-flopped. He knelt in front of her. "Bones?"

She gazed unblinkingly at nothing.

"Bones. _Temperance."_

She remained absolutely still.

Booth didn't take his eyes off hers as his insides began to quiver. "Call an ambulance."

* * *

_ohno!_

_now it's brennan hanging over the cliff, but for real this time. review please!_

_btw, "porca miseria" roughly translates to "pig of misery" and is one of my very favorite italian curses. :)_


	15. Revelation

_this is the third chapter i've posted in about a week, and they aren't even chapters that were split! aren't you lucky? ;) say thank you with reviews!_

_everyone but tempertemper can cheer, rossi is not in this chapter. but fear not temper ma dear, she'll be back. oh yes, she will be back. the rest of you can go on despising her while she's not around, because we all know just how much you love to hate her, or hate to love her, or some such thing._

_now that we've had an episode air that deals with max's trial, i feel the need to point out that this story takes place before all that. there shall be no spoilers here! i have too many international peeps. i've gone back and made note at the beginning that basic knowledge of up through santa in the slush is assumed._

* * *

In the hallway outside the reinforced glass windows of the visitation room stood a tired-looking FBI agent. The fluorescent light overhead hummed in his ears as he watched Max rise and shake the hand of a man in a slick suit. A guard let the man out and Booth in.

Booth watched the attorney disappear down the hall. "I think I've met him before."

"I imagine that's a bit of an occupational hazard in your line of work. So, to what do I owe this pleasant surprise?"

Booth took a breath and cut to the chase. "Temperance is in the hospital again."

Max sat, eyes wide.

In the hallway where Booth previously stood, shoes clumped and cuh-lacked. Bypassers could see the man in his wrinkled suit talk, then the prisoner sit soberly and pose a question. The men spoke quietly for several minutes while feet echoed. Then the older man rubbed his hands over his face and looked at the younger one, asking a question.

"Has she woken up?"

"No."

The clock in the visitation room ticked incessantly.

"Ironically, what seemed to be a mild head injury was what wound up being the brunt of the problem. Though the car didn't help."

"What car?" Max asked, his furrowed brows compressing further.

"We think someone tried to run her down."

Max struggled to breathe. "Was it the punk who poisoned you?"

"Not if it's the same one who tried to kill Columbo. He's in custody."

"How is Columbo?"

"He's out of the hospital."

"And Temperance is back in."

"Yes."

Down some hall in the distance, a heavy metal door swung into its frame and latched. A barely audible scuff, scuff, scuff, scuff crescendoed and faded.

"Are you looking into the car? Who was driving it?"

"We lost it," Booth said solemnly. He paused then said as though reciting it, "It could have been an accident."

"Do you really believe that?"

"No."

Max rubbed his hands over his face again. "Well, thank God she has such a capable boyfriend to help her out right now."

Booth sighed, "What are you talking about, Max? She's not seeing anyone."

"Wait a minute, wait a minute," Max waved his hands. "You and Tempe _aren't_ dating?"

"No, we're not dating," Booth replied, slightly taken aback. "We're just partners." Booth had gathered that when Max returned he'd believed the two of them to be engaged, but all of a sudden he realized that denying that they were getting married and saying that they weren't a couple at all were two very different things. All the same, he was surprised that somehow this misunderstanding had carried for several months.

Max scoffed. "Listen here, Booth. I like you, but you must be blind not to see the way my daughter looks at you. I thought you FBI guys were supposed to be able to read people."

Booth turned the thought over in his head. He had fairly hard evidence that she thought about him sexually, but did she actually have feelings for him beyond friendship?

"And moreover," he continued, "I've seen that look," he nodded in Booth's direction.

"What are you talking about, Max?"

"I know a little something about being in love. When I've seen you and Temperance together, I can feel the passion radiating off of you. It reminds me," he took a longing, melancholy breath, "It reminds me of myself and my wife."

"Max..." Booth began, feigning disbelief.

"I know a little something about being crazy about a woman," he assured him. "I've been there."

Booth quietly stopped protesting.

"As I said, I like you. I see a man who would do anything to protect those he loves, who's capable of doing it, and who's very concerned about doing what's right."

"Which you know a little something about," Booth added.

Max half smiled. "Doing what's _necessary,_ regardless of the cost," he corrected quietly, glancing surreptitiously around the locked room.

Booth leaned forward and let his head drop toward the table. He listened to the clock tick for a few seconds, then launched in time into the usual justifications he played through his mind. "We work together, things would be complicated, and dangerous."

When Max spoke, his voice fluidly avoided the rhythm of the clock. "Ruth and I worked together. Oh, and we fought like you couldn't even begin to comprehend."

_I don't know about that, Max._

Max leaned forward, "But we were the very best. And look what we made of our life together."

"Crime sprees and assumed identities?" Booth rubbed his temples and spoke into the hands on which he was resting his face.

"Temperance and Russell," Max corrected him again. "Russ may have his flaws, but he has the love of a very kind woman, and those two beautiful little girls may be the closest I will ever have to grandchildren. He's a good man who loves his family. That's a good life. And then there's Temperance."

Booth's head now rolled up toward him, the love, longing and concern for his partner written plainly across his face.

Max smiled. "Temperance will probably be my greatest contribution to the world. Not just her astounding mind, which she _must_ have inherited from her mother, but her fire, and that amazing capability to love so much. Admittedly, it's something I haven't seen much of since we lost her. She had a hard time," his eyes glazed over and the lines of age deepened, "and I was afraid that she'd lost it, that we'd done irreversible damage trying to keep her safe, until I saw her with you."

"With me?"

Max chuckled at him. "Oh, Booth, you should have seen her when Gallagher had you. When she found your tooth, she punched out that bounty hunter, did you know that? She had this feral drive to get you back. I had never seen a look like that on her face... the things we do for those we love. She broke the law for you."

"So have I."

Max looked at him questioningly.

"Stolen evidence from a crime scene... her mother's earring, I've killed people who were trying to hurt her. While it was in the line of duty, I am Catholic, and my body count is pretty high." Booth paused and chuckled sardonically, "Threatened a gang leader who put a hit out on her once."

Max looked concerned.

Booth waved his hand dismissively, "Taken care of."

"And you'd do it all again."

"In a heartbeat."

"Life's short, Booth. Take it from me, we never know how long we'll have those we love."

The two men looked at each other for a minute, both understanding a little bit more about how much they truly had in common.

Finally, Max spoke. "You know, even if Russ and Amy do have children of their own, who knows if I'll be around to see them." Booth frowned at his implication. "But family is who you choose to love as well. So tell me about your son, Booth. He's a cute kid."

Despite how wretched he felt, Booth took some solace in Max's acceptance and obliged him. By the time he was readying to leave, while he didn't feel any relief over the situation, a temporary calm had settled over him.

Max stood and shook his hand with both of his. "I've said it before, take care of her."

"She would say that she doesn't need to be taken care of. _Would,"_ Booth laughed for the first time in a day and a half, "she _has_ said it."

"That's not what I mean. She hasn't always been entirely concerned about her happiness. But I am," Max intoned. "And I know that you are too."

"Yes." Booth stepped to the door.

"And you keep your head up, Booth. I don't like the sound of that car."

* * *

Her head felt fuzzy.

_Is that a word? Fuzzy?_ she wondered.

_Hmm, maybe. It seems to fit._

_Okay, then._

Light didn't filter in through her lids. She didn't open her eyes. She just slowly became aware of sight.

Something inside her complained that the place was unfamiliar. She had no answer for that nagging question of how she'd arrived there, so she distracted herself by examining her environment. A painting of a forest stared across the room at her. Beside it a window showcased a night landscape of city lights.

In front of her was... what was that? A body? Oh, her body. It felt disconnected for a moment, but the more she looked at it, the more it looked like her own.

Most of the surfaces in the room were covered with glass vases and baskets overflowing with flowers. On the table nearest her, yellow and white blooms sprung from a bulbous blue vase. Her brain thought that she should know what these kinds of flowers were called, but the names escaped her. They smiled at her. She smiled back.

Daffodils and daisies.

"Booth."

Two hands suddenly squeezed her right one and she looked over to see her partner's head rise from where it had been bowed over his knuckles. He loosed a relieved smile and a strangled laugh. "That's me."

The man who sat next to her bed looked worn. His tie and coat had been cast aside, the light blue shirt was half unbuttoned and wrinkled where his strong arms had been crossed for a millenium. Five o'clock shadow rolled on well past midnight on his sharp jaw and she swore a few of his hairs were now gray. All of the polish was gone, leaving him bare.

He'd never looked better.

"How you feelin, babe?"

_Babe? _

"Cold."

He stood and picked up a blanket at the end of her bed.

"And wonky. What happened?"

Booth pulled the blanket up to her chest. "The nurses said to ask you your name."

"Booth," she objected.

"No, that's me. Try again."

She scowled, "My name is Dr. Temperance Brennan. Now what the hell happened?"

He sat down again. "Subdural hematoma."

Now it was her turn for the strangled laugh. "From the microscope?"

"Yeah."

She sat still. "Like mom," she finally croaked.

Booth nodded.

"Ironic."

"Actually, irony is incongruity between actual and expected outcomes," Booth corrected. "This is just _damn _ bad luck."

"True," she admitted.

"It started out small, which is why they didn't catch it during that first hospital trip. Subdural bleeds tend to have a slower onset and usually wind up healing themselves, but recovery doesn't usually include arsenic." He smiled weakly and blinked a few times. "The intracranial pressure didn't help with your headaches, which were aggravated at times of high stress."

"Like yelling at Rossi and near-vehicular confrontations."

He nodded again. "And it eventually caused fluctuating consciousness and ataxia, which is when we decided that an ambulance was in order."

Brennan's face bore an expression of puzzled wonder.

He looked at her from eyes underlined by dark circles and answered her unspoken question, "I've learned quite a bit about the condition over the last few days."

She threw a concerned look at her partner. Deciding she was not quite ready to feel for a bandage just yet, she gestured toward her head. "They go in?"

"Yeah. They cut a small burr hole to relieve the pressure and help stop the hemorrhage. You'll have fun going through airport security for a while with the metal they installed."

"Great."

"What's the last thing you remember?"

She squinted. "I remember you brought me into my office and then I was talking to Angela."

"Good, that sounds right. Who's president?"

She rolled her eyes.

Booth laughed knowingly, "Two for two. Where did you crack your skull on the microscope?"

"Well it happened at the lab, but I think you mean the location on the skull. Which would be on the parietal bone near the intersection of the coronal suture and the inferior temporal line."

"Four for three. Pretty good." He smiled.

"How's my head?"

"Well, all your internal plumbing is back the way it should be, and I'm not the doc, but you should be back kicking my ass in no time."

She smiled at him sadly and he looked back into her eyes like a man who had just been released from a repressed panic.

After a while she asked, "So where are our squints?"

"Zack was going nuts over your x-rays. Angela was just going nuts. I sent them all home to get some rest."

"But not you?"

"Nope. No rest for the winded," he smirked.

She looked at him with an eyebrow raised, "Wicked."

"Oh right," he feigned ignorance. "I also have special FBI powers that convinced them that I should be around after visiting hours."

She noted his very scruffy face. "What day is it?"

"It's Saturday." He glanced at his watch, "About 10 pm."

"I've been out for two days?" Somehow the thought of it made her exhausted.

"Mmhmm." He picked up her hand again and began rubbing the back of it absentmindedly.

She fought to keep her eyes open. Booth noticed.

"Sleep. You need to rest. I'll be here tomorrow morning."

She intended to nod, but she'd already faded back to dreamland.

Once he was certain that she was sleeping soundly, Booth sighed and stood, retrieving his tie and coat.

He pulled out his cell and sent a promised text message to Angela. _She woke up, should be fine, says hi. See you tomorrow._

And now with the knowledge that she seemed to have escaped any major brain damage, and that waking up alone in the hospital wouldn't be as much of a shock for her, he headed home for his first meeting with a pillow since their drunken Wednesday evening.

* * *

_next chapter marks the arrival of a pivotal conversation._

_time to click the button and talk to me! pretty please? you know you want to, so don't deny yourself. it's just not healthy to repress like that._


	16. Evolution

Brennan was roused in the morning by an anxious, squeaking voice reverberating down the hallway.

"But visiting hours begin in fifteen minutes! It's not like we're three hours early!"

After another minute of indistinct voices in conversation, there was quiet, then footsteps moving down the hall.

"Bren!" Angela cried as she rushed to Brennan's bedside and gave her as much of a hug as she dared with all of her bandaging, sensors and IV lines. Hodgins followed into the room and smiled widely.

"Hey Ange," she smiled. "Hodgins."

The artist pulled away, looked at her friend with watery eyes, and pulled her into another hug. "Oh, we were so worried! How are you feeling this morning?"

"Better, I suppose. Haven't been awake much."

"No," Hodgins said. "No you haven't."

"Have you woken up at all since Booth was here last night?"

"Once or twice. Where is he, anyway?"

"Subtle, sweetie."

"Well, he said he'd see me in the morning."

"I believe he went home to get some much-needed sleep," Hodgins spoke up, "and he mentioned that he was going to spend a little time with the kid this morning before coming over here. Fortunately, both Parker and Rebecca have been pretty understanding."

Her face fell. She had forgotten that it was Booth's weekend with his son. She instantly felt horrible for him having to miss it because of her, especially after the rough time they'd been having with the cases and being poisoned.

"That man has been by your bedside almost constantly since Thursday." Angela gave her a look, "Have you talked to him?" _About what we discussed?_

"Not yet."

"You've really gotta put him out of his misery."

"I know, Ange. I'm going to talk to him soon."

"Good." Her face, which had been serious, suddenly brightened. "We brought you something," she said with a smile and a teasing tone.

Hodgins closed his eyes and chortled behind her as he held out the plastic bag he was carrying.

"Now, I know you're not into the whole cute-and-cuddly-stuffed-animal thing, but I just couldn't resist."

Angela reached into the bag and before she realized it, Brennan was staring face to face with a fuzzy stuffed...

...skull?

Brennan looked at it for one second and then roared with laughter, stopped, squinting at the pain it brought. Then she opened her eyes to it again and recommenced her laughter, not able to stop herself. "Where...?!" she was laughing too hard to finish and too distracted by the pain of it.

"There's this kinda goth store at the mall," she said with an eyebrow raise. "I was there looking for some nice fuzzy handcuffs, because not everyone has a partner they can pilfer those from, and it jumped out at me." She made a quick movement in Brennan's direction with the white plush object.

"Ow! Ow!" Brennan cried through the ends of her laughter, but the pain couldn't wipe the smile from her face as she took the skull.

"I think you've got some trace evidence on the back there," Hodgins gestured.

Brennan spun it around and then held it by the doubled up tag. "You're right. This, right here, is less than accurate." She smiled jokingly at her friend.

"Yeah, I've also noticed that most skulls don't have Xs for eyes either," she grinned back at her.

"It's really great, Ange. Thank you."

"Laughter. Now there's a sound I could stand to hear more of," rumbled a low voice from the door.

"Booth, look!" Brennan exclaimed with a gigantic grin. She held up the skull for him to see and he laughed.

"Where do you find these things?" he asked Angela.

"Goth shop."

"Only you could find the perfect stuffed animal for Bones." He stepped to the side of the bed and eyed her meticulously. "How you doin this morning?"

"I'm actually feeling pretty good. The pain from laughing is already dying away."

"Well, I hope so, you have about a liter of painkillers running through your system. You should be mellow as a southern drawl."

"Definitely, but I'm feeling less pressure too. Before, my headaches felt like they were trying to force their way out of my," she held up the plush, "skull."

Booth's eyebrows flashed. "Makes sense."

"You get any sleep, man?" Hodgins asked him.

"Yeah, finally." He pointed at the armchair behind Angela and said, "That thing is not very comfortable."

"I'm sorry you missed your time with Parker," Brennan looked up at him. "How's he doing?"

"Scored a hundred percent on his spelling test Friday." He smiled proudly. "Oh, and I've got him next Friday night and most of Saturday. Apparently, you being in the hospital is good enough of an excuse for reorganizing the schedule rather than just canceling."

"I'm glad, Booth."

He plucked the skull from her hands and turned it studiously in his hands. He looked up at Hodgins with a smirk, "Got some particulates for you here, man."

* * *

Monday, Booth snuck in eggrolls for lunch. They were finishing their third when Booth's cell phone rang.

"Boof."

"Hey man," Hodgins said. "You with Dr. B?"

He swallowed. "Yeah, hang on a sec," he pressed a button. "You're on speakerphone."

"So are you," Hodgins voice sprang resonant from the phone. "The white powder you found at Duncan's place is definitely the same kind of arsenic that poisoned you."

"Supporting the theory that Duncan was the one who broke into Booth's apartment," Brennan noted.

"Actually," Zack piped up, "it has been suggested that the arsenic could have been planted."

Booth rolled his eyes, "You've been spending too much time with Hodgins and his crazy conspiracy theories."

"Hey, I resent that." Hodgins.

"Just telling it like it is, man."

Zack spoke again, "Agent Rossi discovered or brought a lot of the evidence over herself. It's usually delivered by the lab's verified couriers. That's how Agent Booth always sends it."

"She's a hands-on kind of person." His mind wandered for a split second. _Bad choice of words there, Seel._ "And I've brought it over once or twice."

"You accompany the couriers. You follow protocol," Zack argued. "For someone who didn't, it would be possible to introduce false evidence."

Booth sighed. "However much you don't like Rossi," _and however much I don't like her,_ "she's a good agent."

He encountered silence.

"What? You want me to send you verified courier samples to recheck?"

"Please."

Booth looked at Brennan. _What do I do, Bones?_

Brennan read his face and leapt in, "If your hypothesis is that Agent Rossi falsified evidence to draw suspicion from herself, suggesting that she was the one responsible for the poisonings, then why would she have pushed me out of the way of that car?"

"To draw suspicion from herself again," Hodgins explained.

"That makes no sense, Jack," Brennan said wearily.

"What can we say, sweetie, we're kinda protective of you."

"There seems to be a lot of that going around," Brennan said with only mild irritation. "You want to recheck the evidence, it's on your own time."

Hodgins' voice was perky, "Absolutely."

Booth looked anxiously behind him and hung up before a nurse could come in and yell at him for using his cell phone.

"Is it much work for you to resend it?" Brennan appealed.

"It's not bad. You think there's something to what they're saying?"

"I recognize the stubbornness, and I'm really not feeling well enough to argue the point," she sighed. "Who knows, maybe they'll find more to strengthen the case against Duncan."

"And it's gone back and forth quite a lot between the FBI Forensics Lab and the Jeffersonian. It's a little bit messier than you usually like."

"True." Brennan yawned. "Thank you."

"You done?"

She nodded and he balled up the food wrappers.

"In any case, Cullen will be satisfied. He'll ask me to close the case. I can't keep it open on a feeling from the squint squad, as much as I appreciate the desire to follow their collective gut. I need evidence."

She smiled. "You sound like me."

"Yeah, well I suppose you're rubbing off on me." The image of Bones _rubbing off _ on him filled his mind. _Knock it off, Booth!_

Completely ignoring the voice, he took her hand.

Brennan's stomach flip-flopped.

_Now. Do it now. _She said abruptly, "Booth, we need to talk," and suddenly found herself nervous. _Just get to the logic and you'll be fine._ "You know your theory about the line?"

"Yes."

"About how people who work together can't be involved romantically?"

"Right." He released her hand with a twinge in his stomach.

"Because some serial killer will find out and try to kill one of them?"

"Bones, I know what you're talking..."

She cut him off, "It's bullshit."

His face flashed surprise and confusion. It was not what he'd been expecting her to say. "What? What do you mean?"

"Well, for one thing, you'd just broken up with Cam, but you weren't talking about her."

"Of course not. It was a preemptive strike."

"A little presumptuous, assuming that I had feelings for you."

He raised his eyebrows. "See, I happened to think it was more perceptive than presumptuous."

She pondered for a moment, then admitted, "Okay, yes. But your logic is flawed."

"How's that?"

"Epps didn't go after Cam because she was in a relationship with you, he went after a non-specific _someone _who worked with us. And unless you're planning a career change, we will continue to have that non-specific threat."

"But going after someone's lover is a more direct threat. That time was non-specific, but that doesn't mean that future threats won't feature specific highly-important people in our lives, like lovers." This conversation was definitely taking a turn for the surreal, he thought.

"That's true, but Booth, we're already among the most important people in each others' lives. We're partners. We spend all day together. And we're very close friends who spend a considerable amount of time outside of work together."

"What's your point, Bones?"

"My point is that someone looking to attack us through the people we're closest to would _already_ put us in their crosshairs. A romantic relationship wouldn't make us suddenly more vulnerable than we are now."

He pondered this for a moment. And her sniper metaphor didn't miss it's mark.

"And if you plan to curtail our friendship because of that kind of potential threat, I'll have something to say about it," she added.

He shook his head, "Of course not."

"Good."

She looked at him firmly from her hospital bed, and his heart hurt as he absorbed her still pale face and bandages.

"You really want to deal with me being protective of you when there's a threat?"

"More protective than you are now?" she replied dryly.

His eyes darted off to the right, then back to her. _Good point._ But as long as this conversation was happening now, Booth thought, might as well be thorough.

"What about families, Bones? You've said that you don't want children. And I might at some point. I'm not suggesting that we're talking about committing the rest of our lives here, but it's something to think about."

"You're right, it is something to think about. Do you really work hours that are conducive to raising a family? And here's a question that I really don't know your answer to, Booth: do you see your goals changing? Do you believe that you will want to give up or even _ease _ up on chasing down the bad guys and putting them away like we do so well? You've been willing to give up so much to commit yourself to it. Will finally evening out your cosmic balance sheet make you satisfied?"

He thought about it. It was his life, his passion, what that innate responsibility demanded from him. It was what drove him, day in and day out. It was the fixation, the addiction that the two of them shared, the thing that they discussed all throughout their days and evenings.

"No. But I can't guarantee that won't change at some point."

"And I can't guarantee that I won't change either. I mean, there could come a time, if we entered into a relationship, that I'd want a family and you wouldn't. There are no guarantees in this life, Booth. We know that as well as anyone."

"You've thought a lot about this."

"And you haven't?" Her sweet lips pursed into a smile.

Dammit. Why did she always have to be right? And why did she always have to look so good while she did it? Mmmm...

He rattled his head to restart his brain. "Relationships between co-workers can be messy."

"We are extremely intelligent."

He chuckled, "And modest."

"And modest. If we couldn't figure out how to manage it, to compartmentalize, I don't know who could."

"I thought you disapproved of, what did you call it, 'undermining the hierarchy of the workplace.'"

"I think that it's usually a bad idea, anthropologically speaking, and especially when combined with other incompatibilities, but I also think that it can be an excuse. And if it's nothing but an excuse, one which can be worked around, it's foolish to let it completely rule a decision."

She sounded so logical. Part of him loved where she was going with this. Most of him hated that she could simplify the situation so completely.

The ultimate face of warning flashed before his eyes as it had so many times before and he sighed. "Bones, I've seen it go wrong. Rossi and I were a good team, she's actually a very good investigator, but when the shit hit the fan, well, we really couldn't work together anymore and it made it really difficult for everyone we knew at the Academy."

"Booth, you and I know how to fight fair. We certainly have enough practice at it. If something went wrong in a relationship, do you honestly think that I would react the same way as that -- I'll use your words -- 'psychotic bitch?'"

He bent his head forward. _Another good point._

"I don't know what she was like before you got together. I don't know how well you knew her."

_Not well._

"But don't you know me?"

"Yes," he breathed, looking up at her with afflicted eyes and voiced what he'd been fearing for as far back as his heart cared to look. "And I can't brave the thought of losing you."

"Who said you're losing me?"

He shook his head. "We're too good to risk."

Booth had said the exact same thing she'd said to Angela. And finally, _finally _ she believed what Angela had replied to her.

"We're too good _not to._"

Hospital personnel murmured beyond Brennan's door. A machine beeped. Booth was quiet.

"Organisms that don't adapt to changes in their environment don't survive. We have to survive, Booth," she said, face full of concern. "We have been changing, and I don't want _us _ to die."

Blue eyes bore into sepia and sepia back into ice blue.

"Here's the thing though. If we're going to do this, we have to be sure. As you said, we're not talking about a lifetime commitment right now."

The thought of a lifetime spent in days fighting and chasing down criminals with his Bones and nights making love to her tugged pleasantly at his coat sleeve.

"But I don't think we could do casual. And it'll mean a lot of compromise for both of us. Is that something that we can agree to?"

He looked into her steady face and took several deep breaths. Her words, Max's words, the answer that his mind had somehow been stubborn enough to keep muffled for so long. A leap of faith.

"Yes."

She was taken aback, "You don't need to think about it?"

"No." Suddenly, he realized he could no longer refrain from touching her skin. He picked up her hand in both of his again.

Her stomach fluttered, but she forced herself to speak. "Why?"

"Because I already have, Bones, and because you said it yourself... we're _good_ together." He pressed his lips to her knuckles. "And we're both brilliant."

"And modest."

"And modest. If we can't figure out how to make it work, then we don't deserve what we have now."

"Now _that _ doesn't make any sense."

"I know." He kissed each of her fingertips.

"I thought we were brilliant."

"Yes." One more go-round on her fingers.

Breathing was getting difficult. "Yet you can't form a coherent reason to back yourself up?"

"Ohhh, don't back out on me now, Bones."

"I'm not."

He felt her hand warming in his. It felt different now. It had always belonged in his, but now he believed it.

His brain buzzed, but one thought solidified. "Did the doc say when you'll be getting out of here?"

"Looks like Thursday."

"If you're up to it, I'd like to take you out Saturday night."

She smiled. "Sounds good to me. But no fast-moving cars."

"You got it."

* * *

_these two are SUPERHEROES for staying so "rational" so long. and i am damn certain that superheroes have excellent sex lives. ;D_

_ooh, cuz you know it's coming._

_and coming._

_and coming once again._

_bea smiles a giant toothy grin._

_okay, time to review. what do you think? convincing argument on brennan's part? realistic reaction from booth? excited about the prospects? ;)_


	17. First Date

_omg, my reviewers are the greatest ever. seriously. i love you all. and a happy writer is a productive writer. we've been getting into chapters that i'm being a bit more careful/specific about, so i'm going as quickly as i feel is safe, but i want to make them as good as i can._

_aaaand without any further adieu, on to the much anticipated date! well, in a few paragraphs anyway. ;)_

* * *

Thursday night found Booth at the FBI firing range. His apartment was finally open again, and the partners had planned for him to return to his own place now that it was open and the case was closed. He'd stopped by to see Bones settle in at home, and then left her and Angela to their Chunky Monkey and Cherry Garcia. Angela was insistent that a sleepover for the gals was long overdue and planned to stay with her for a couple nights while she got back into the post-operative swing of things.

This was all fine by Booth. So much had happened in the last couple weeks that he was grateful for a little time to himself, some time to think, to regroup, especially as he knew that his personal time would disappear the next day when he picked up his son. He smiled. Time with Parker could never be called personal time, but there was a certain energy about it that calmed him. Even... no _especially _ when his son was running around wreaking havoc, Booth found himself in an altered state where everything focused on someone else, someone that he loved. It was a release from thinking about his own problems.

But tonight was all about him and his Glock.

These cases had left him with an uneasy feeling. What was most frustrating was that he couldn't seem to sort out all of the sources of frustration. He'd always been excellent at analyzing situations, emotions, motives. When something fell short of his grasp it left him unsatisfied and irritable. It was times like this when he fell back to the place where he could always regain some sense of control.

The grip warmed in his hand, rejoicing at the contact. He felt the ease with which the tool seemed to mold to him. Or perhaps he was the one who had been molded over the years. Either way, it was like the comfort of an old, reliable friend. His Glock had been by his side when he'd protected others, protected himself, when he'd been forced to take lives. It never once doubted or judged him.

Booth was certain that if he'd expressed these thoughts about his firearm he would have been laughed into the next county. Or committed. Very few people understood, but he didn't care.

Sliding into focus with his weapon in hand was like submitting to gravity. His breath was normal, it held mid-exhale. He squeezed, felt the trigger break cleanly, the solid and satisfying kick of the recoil. It nuzzled immediately back into position and he fired again.

Each shot released him just a little bit more and the world receded. His hesitation, his unease, his discomfort all fell away.

He reveled in the efficiency of the thing, the aesthetics. It was oddly convenient how the calm that firing instilled in him was something of a necessity in the field when it was actually needed. He had no idea how he would manage it if shooting a gun was an additional stressor.

Aside from the comforting physics of discharging his firearm, however, each shot strengthened his confidence. He was _good_ at this. He was young, vigorous, efficient, and more than capable of protecting those he loved.

Those he loved.

After an hour of shooting, he packed up for home and let his now quiet mind wander to them. To one in particular whom he was taking out Saturday night. He let the feeling of ease and happiness wash over him as he made for home. He had a date to plan.

And this would have to be a good one.

* * *

"I'll pick you up at 6," his voice sounded tinny through the the cell phone's earpiece.

"Okay. Where are we going?"

"It's a surprise."

"Is withholding information an alpha male control kind of thing?"

_Hmm, maybe, _he thought. "It's a _surprise_ kind of thing, Bones."

She let out a half-exasperated breath, "How should I dress?"

"Well, we're not going to a fancy restaurant or anyplace with a dress code. So i guess just... first-date casual?"

"I don't know what that means."

He sighed, "Angela's still there?"

"Yes."

"Put her on the phone."

The artist took the cell. "Hey."

Brennan watched Angela's smile grow bigger and bigger the longer she held the phone to her ear. "Got it." They hung up.

"You know where we're going?"

"Yes."

She read her expression. "And you're not going to tell me."

"No."

"But you're my best friend," Brennan appealed.

"Which is exactly _why_ I'm not telling you." She smiled conspiratorially. Brennan noted that that particular smile didn't look nearly so nice when you weren't in on the secret. "But I _am_ going to help you pick out something to wear."

As excited as she was, it didn't take long at all for Angela's squeaking elation to get irritating. She kicked her out of the apartment, nearly forcibly, once she'd helped in choosing her outfit for "the big date." The last thing Brennan needed was to let herself get nervous. This wasn't some blind date. This was Booth. There was no reason to get nervous with Booth.

But then again, _this was Booth._ First dates had always held a certain kind of anticipation, but _nothing_ like this.

She noticed at some point that the one thing that didn't cross her mind once was a question of whether going on a date with him was a good idea. Given all of her mental flip-flopping in the last week, she was very grateful for her mind's ability to finally settle on a decision and stick with it.

She was considering going against the doctor's orders and pouring herself a pre-date glass of wine when she heard his knock at the door. The clock on the wall said 5:58.

"You're two minutes early," she accused before the door was even fully open.

Booth donned an innocent expression and pointed behind him. "You want me to go downstairs, come back up?"

She opened the door wide and gestured her head sideways in invitation.

"Don't worry," he smiled as he walked past her. "I don't always come early."

Her eyes flew wide. Perhaps she _should _ suggest he wait outside. Otherwise they might never get where they were going.

_Wow, Seel, you're really earning the right to wear that 'Cocky' belt buckle tonight, aren't you? _Booth hadn't been able to look when she'd first let him in, but as she closed the door behind him, he turned to take a glance. And all of a sudden, his cockiness dissolved right along with his knees.

Brennan wore a dark red fitted and lacy-edged tank top that dipped low. Low. _God bless you, Angela._ Long legs were showcased in dark, low-cut jeans. Her rich hair tumbled in seemingly haphazard waves. And there amongst all of the deep hues, her eyes blazed glacier blue.

"You look..."

_What, Booth?_

Amazing, sexy, beautiful. "...good."

_'Good,' Booth?! Are you kidding?_

"Thanks. Angela picked it out."

His confidence finally began to recover after the shock of how gorgeous she looked. _'Gorgeous,' that would have been fine._ "Well you always look great. But it's considered more or less unprofessional to ogle your partner at work. Right now, however, I'm your date, so it's totally allowed."

"Does that mean that I get to check you out too?"

He spread his arms wide, "Ogle away."

Booth stood in a light blue polo that traipsed, clinging, nearly the whole way down his mile-long torso to, _of course, _ the ever-present belt buckle at the top of his dark jeans. Brennan had always thought that jeans suited him, and she hadn't been able to stop herself from catching a glimpse from behind as he'd walked into her apartment. _Nice._

"How are you feeling tonight?"

"Not bad actually. I was tired yesterday, but tonight I'm feeling pretty rested."

"Good. That's good." _Taking our cues from Parker's vocab lists, are we?_ "You up for an outing?"

"We aren't doing anything particularly strenuous, are we?"

_Only if the date goes well._ "A little casual strolling, nothing tough. I've got your back, Bones."

* * *

The Tahoe rumbled along the slowly dimming streets.

"So," she said casually, "you know, I've always wanted to visit this place, what's it like?"

He smiled, "Nice try."

_Dammit_.

"Boooooth..." she whined.

"Trust me, Bones, you'll like it. Be patient."

Brennan had never been much for patience. She could pull it out of her hat if absolutely required, but she adored, she practically worshipped control. And patience seemed to her little more than calm acknowledgment of a lack of control. She liked having all of the facts and didn't like waiting for them. It was one of the reasons she frequently worked so late into the evening. Her mind never wanted to wait until the next day to get all of her answers. But this wasn't a case, she reminded herself. This was not work. This was a social outing with someone whom she trusted. Over the years, she'd gathered evidence that she could trust him, and as he pulled up to the curb at their destination, she received evidence that she could trust him with surprises as well.

A quick inhale of breath and her face lit up. Booth's, watching hers, followed immediately.

"Surprise."

The last tip of a deep orange sun peeked over the horizon as they climbed from the car. All along the narrow street, vendors moved in colorful tents, interacting with fair-goers. Each booth was adorned with various strands of lights and a wire ran the length of the road, dangling festive paper lanterns throughout the scene. A few musicians wandered, the nearest played a fiddle. And above it all, watching over the festivities, cherry blossoms spread pink from wise old branches.

"The main Cherry Blossom Festival can get pretty crowded, but this particular street festival is more of a local gathering of several neighborhood cultures, though it is primarily Japanese. I thought the anthropologist might like to see them interact. And, well, I think it's kinda pretty."

"It's beautiful," Brennan murmured.

He grinned cheekily, "Told you you'd like it."

"I've never heard of this street fair," she mused. "And I really can't remember the last time i've been to one of these things."

"I thought it might have been a while."

"What's that supposed to mean?" she squeaked at him.

"You work too hard."

"You work just as hard as I do."

He nodded in acknowledgment, "So we both work too hard. I just thought it'd be fun." To tell the truth, he was hoping and praying for the look of delight that had graced her features when they'd visited Kris Kringle's apartment in December. He wanted to see her birthname burst forth on her face once again. Joy. He hadn't been disappointed.

"Don't these kind of things have clowns?"

"Occasionally, but that's usually carnivals and amusement parks. There aren't any at this one."

"No?"

"No." He'd researched it.

She chuckled.

"Hungry?"

"Yes."

They located a kabob vendor amongst the various tents and sat beneath a tree, chatting while they munched. Booth talked about his day with Parker, how they'd gone to feed the ducks, how once his bread was gone Parker had absentmindedly picked up the sandwich of the woman sitting on the bench next to them and started throwing bits of it into the water.

Brennan laughed. "I bet that went over well."

He grinned peacefully and said, "Parker was embarrassed and then we all had a good little chuckle. She couldn't seem to stay irritated at him for very long."

"That makes sense. It would be difficult to be angry with such an adorable little boy."

Booth beamed at her before contradicting, "Oh, I've managed."

"Well, of course _you_ could. It would be difficult for Parker to use his good looks and charm to full effect on the person who _gave_ them to him."

"What a sly little compliment, Bones. Thank you."

She nodded at him and began gathering up their food wrappers. "Did you see that caricature artist back there?"

* * *

Brennan surveyed the full-color drawing they'd had done of the two of them. They stood back to back. Booth wore his trademark charm smile and stood with hands on his hips, gun gleaming in its holster. (Brennan hadn't noticed he was wearing his gun under his jacket earlier. "Of course, Bones. I'm always on duty.") Her figure wore a blue lab coat, a gigantic necklace and had it's neck craned out squinting at a skull that she held up as though monologuing to it. And her character's face held the tiniest smirk, she noticed. Beneath them both was written in large letters 'Booth & Bones.'

"It's not bad," she admitted as she rolled it up and slid it into her purse.

The witticisms and smiles flowed as they ambled down the road, stopping here, purchasing some trinket there. They stopped to play a game that consisted of throwing balls at clowns hinged onto racks.

"That's not fair!" she exclaimed as she missed her third attempt. "They have deceptively small striking surfaces! The hair takes up at least fifty percent of the supposed target!"

"That's right, Bones," Booth said as he picked up his three balls and focused. Pow, pow, pow. Three clowns in a row hung down from where they stood before. He pointed at an object and the woman behind the counter reached for it, handing it to him.

Brennan looked at him in surprise.

"Clowns." He flashed his eyebrows at her and handed over the small stuffed pig he'd won.

They had just finished admiring the work of a local artist when Booth's eyes caught on something and he looped an arm around Brennan's shoulders, guiding her in it's direction.

The old man working the origami tent helped them select paper and began showing Brennan how to fold a hopping frog. Booth watched on for a moment, and then grabbed a large sheet of 2-sided red/green paper and told the man he would do his own thing.

She had to backtrack a couple of times when she'd valley-folded instead of mountain-folding and when her reference creases weren't quite sharp enough to make out at another stage. Her spatial mind was enjoying the challenge, and she'd gotten herself quite absorbed in the project when she felt a tap at her elbow. A red origami rose on a long green stem lay next to her arm. Her saucer-sized eyes looked up at Booth, who was smiling at her.

"You made this?"

He nodded.

She held it up in awe. "This is amazing, Booth."

The old man looked on appreciatively. "A modified Kawasaki rose?"

Booth nodded once more. "I learned to fold from a buddy in the service. We meet up every once in a while and burn through a ton of paper."

"You never told me you knew how to do origami," Brennan said.

He cocked an eyebrow. "You never asked."

Booth helped her finish her frog, which looked a little odd, but hopped pretty well when she pressed and released the tail. She slid the frog into their caricatures' tube and followed it carefully with the rose, leaving the very edge sticking out so she could steal glances at it. Booth spoke for a few minutes with the old man, bought three packages of printed paper and promised to stop by his studio the next week.

Checking his watch, Booth turned to Brennan and said, "There's an Aikido demonstration and taiko drumming on the stage down by the park in five minutes if you want to see that." A big grin crossed her face.

The sun had fully set and the scene was now lit exclusively by the lights from the sides of the row and the red, yellow and green lanterns above them. Brennan rolled her eyes when her date insisted they stop on the way to get cotton candy. "What's with you and processed sugar, Booth?"

He paid for the large ball of pink on a stick and they continued walking. "It's good! Have some."

"No."

"Suit yourself," he shrugged and extended his elbow. Brennan looped her arm through his.

"It seems like you picked a place that has a lot of things that you're good at."

"I picked it because I thought you would enjoy it."

"I do," she smiled. "But it's fairly widely accepted that demonstrating physical prowess is one way an individual shows that they would make a good mate," she said casually, as though it were everyday conversation for him as well.

Her sudden switch for the scientific threw him. "What are you talking about, Bones?"

"Succeeding at that _completely unfair_ throwing game, winning me Jasper's little sister, making an origami rose."

"Do you really have to boil this down to evolution of the species? Can't we just be a couple out having a good time? And besides, I think you're pretty impressive, so it only makes sense that I would want to try to impress you."

"You think I'm impressive?" Her stomach fluttered. And '_a couple?'_ she thought.

Booth watched her beautiful lips pause, hanging open slightly, and seized the opportunity.

"Mmph! Boof!" she chastised at the piece of pink fluff that had been swiftly pressed between her lips. Before she was able to remove it, it began to melt in her mouth and an intrigued look crossed her face. "Hmm... interesting texture..."

He stopped and gaped at her. _"You haven't had cotton candy before?"_

"No."

Booth's mind reeled at how to respond to such an obvious miscarriage of justice. But before he could formulate a response, she reached out for another taste. Booth laughed while he watched her face screw up in concentration at the new data she was processing.

It was written all over his face. He was happy. Happier than he'd been in a long time. It was surely too good to last, he thought, but he had every intention of making the most of it.

They strolled languidly to the platform bordering the large expanse of dark that signified the nearby lake. A large tree full of cherry blossoms stretched over the small stage at it's feet, branches all decorated with twinkling lights. A crowd gathered around the stage while a man spoke into a microphone at its center, introducing the Aikido demonstrators. The pair moved to the edge of the crowd nearest the park and the announcer called for volunteers to come up on the stage to help.

She grunted. "I'd like to get up there."

"You can't. You're recovering."

"I know," she moaned resignedly.

"It's alright, you can demonstrate your physical prowess for me another time." He popped another piece of cotton candy into her mouth. She didn't fight him this time.

Booth knew that Aikido was one of the martial arts in which she was proficient, but he'd never heard her talk about it specifically. Tonight, she leaned close and commentated while they watched. It was one of the few arts that focused exclusively on defense, and on the well-being of both the attacked and the attacker. He found it overwhelmingly graceful to watch. She described, in expressive detail the subtleties of redirecting momentum, of becoming one with the movement of the attacker, of recognizing fulcrums and body kinetics, how it became intuition and appeared so effortless. He knew that she was passionate about the science behind everything, but he hadn't really heard her poeticize about it. He said so. Brennan explained how it really was an _art_ and she tended to revel in the hows and whys that were tied into the form.

They watched the sensei take on five different attackers at once in appreciative silence. Once the presentation had ended, Booth took a bite of cotton candy straight from the cone and a bit of the fluff stuck to the end of his nose. In such a relaxed state, his silly side kicked in and left it there to see how long it would take his date to notice.

It took about five seconds.

"Booth, you've got..." she spoke and gestured to her own face.

"What? A nose? I know, Bones." All innocence.

She reached up and plucked it off with her thumb and forefinger, holding it up to show him. For just for a moment her hand hesitated and he acted on instinct, catching her fingers in his mouth, licking the fluffy sugar off slowly.

Her breath caught as their eyes locked. And then he was reaching out with both arms and pulling her to him and tilting her head to his.

The mistletoe. Waking up with her lips pressed to his. Nothing could have prepared her for what happened when Seeley Booth kissed and _meant it._ The first light touch stole her breath and sent shivers waltzing down her spine. The second solidified them and made her skin icy. On the third, her breath returned and she combusted into flames. She slid her arms up around his neck and pulled him more solidly to her.

A low rumble escaped his throat. She kissed like heaven.

When her tongue ran inside his mouth, she could taste the cotton candy on his tongue. It occurred to her that it was a fitting counterpoint to the sweetness of his lips. His hands roamed across her back, always pressing her up into his attentive caress.

BOOM!

They jumped and parted. Booth instinctively began to spin her away from the sound before they both realized what it was.

BOOM. CRACK. BOOM BOOM.

Brennan dropped her head to his chest, his fell to her hair and they laughed into each other. Leave it to the taiko drummers to begin a loud piece without any warning. He kissed her temple and they stepped back a few yards to watch the drummers onstage.

Booth stood close behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist and she couldn't help but thread her fingers through his. Somehow, neither the lights, the stimulating drums, nor the energy of the crowd could seem to keep the two from melting into each other.

* * *

_yes, that's right, literal fluff! don't for one second think that any of the sugar references in this story are accidental._

_hmmmmmmmm... now the question is how will they end their evening?... brennan is still recovering, after all, and needs her rest... just how much of a tease AM i?... _


	18. Exactly

_did i mention that i love my reviewers? yes? well it bears repeating. i love my reviewers! thank you thank you!_

_i'm just gonna take this moment to remind everyone that this story is rated __**M**__._

_that is all._

_;)_

* * *

It wasn't a walk so much as a meander through the park on the way back to the car. A walk couldn't be called a walk with so many stops where she stretched her chin up, where he slid his arms around her, where they explored the intricacies of each others lips, mouths.

Brennan couldn't explain it. She'd had a unique feeling of anticipation before Booth had picked her up, and now she was experiencing something that she'd never felt on any date. Peace. The excitement had persisted, she was quite familiar with that particular release of chemicals in her brain. And the adrenaline from the drums that startled them out of their kiss still had all of her cells in its exhilarating grasp. But the peculiar combination of calm and excitement kept prompting her to request more data. She was beginning to suspect that kissing Seeley Booth might actually be addictive.

When his hand drifted low on her back, drifted to the very top of the curve of her ass, a reminder of the completeness of her body, it lit a fire within her belly and she pulled herself nearer. They stood perilously close to each other, lips stroking, hands traveling lightly for what felt like ages.

This time it was ducks wandering over that interrupted them. They kept their distance, but the razor-sensed sniper opened one eye and laughed at their voyeurism.

"We have an audience," he said huskily.

"Wow," she replied as she turned to look at them. "That's a little creepy in the middle of the night."

"It is. Shall we?"

They laced their fingers together and made their way back to the Tahoe. Brennan couldn't explain the odd sense of deja vu that had something to do with ducks and Booth and his car. But of course she would, she thought. Ducks weren't uncommon, and being with Booth in his car was even less so. All the same, she felt a tingle that didn't seem to want to release her hips the entire way back to her apartment.

* * *

With her coat draped over one arm, she unlocked the door and turned back to him.

_Ah, the goodnight stance,_ he thought. Probably for the best. It had been a good date. A really _really _ good date. And he didn't want to rush anything with them.

Her face lit up in a huge genuine smile. "Thanks, Booth. You were right about the surprise. I had a really great time."

"I'm glad." He found to _his _ surprise that he wasn't nearly as pleased about her admitting he was right as he was at her glowing smile. He didn't see nearly enough of those from her.

There was a pause and something flickered in her eyes.

And then she was grabbing at his jacket and kissing him and pulling him inside and he followed her lips as though he had no choice in the matter. He obeyed the call of her mouth, pulled her into his arms, heard the door slam shut behind him.

Their kisses before at the festival, in the park, had been sweet, easy. Their tongues had languidly caressed each other and explored as though they had all the time in the world.

Now they were insistent, impatient. Booth felt a surge rising up from the solid earth, through his strong legs and hips, all the way up his torso. It gripped his lungs, his head. He couldn't get enough of her. The fingers of one hand slid to the base of her spine and grazed up under her shirt from the inch of exposed smooth skin on her back. He felt her breath puff against his lips.

And then her hands were moving. They played across his chest and slid under his jacket to his shoulders, pushing it down his arms. He released her briefly to let her pull off his jacket, and then her hands moved quickly to his middle, sliding under his shirt and against the skin, pushing it up as far as she could with his shoulder holster in the way. Her breathing grew labored as her hands drew along all of the skin of his back that she could reach. She let her thumbs hook into the band of his jeans, fingers stretching down, grasping his ass.

His hips burned and his pants were suddenly much too tight.

_Whoa, hold up now, Seeley boy._

"Bones," he gasped and looked firmly into her eyes. "You really want this? Now?"

"God, yes," she breathed.

_Thank you, Dear Lord._

"I didn't think you were an on-the-first-date kinda gal." _Wait, what? Are you trying to talk yourself out of this, Seel? And here I thought you were at least mildly intelligent._

"Booth," his name came out like a laugh. "It's not like this is a blind date."

"No, it's not. This is us," said Booth. Caution laced his voice.

She looked back deeply into his eyes and replied, breathy with desire, "Exactly."

And then his jeans were much _much _ too tight._  
_

She let her nails gently graze his lower back while his face stretched toward the ceiling. "I've thought about it. And I want you," she said simply.

He groaned.

"What about you? Are you ready?"

He looked at her for one second, placed his Glock and holster on the counter, and then pulled her tightly to him in a scorching kiss.

They fumbled for the bedroom.

Brennan wrestled his shirt up and over his head, lips barely parted for the blue fabric and he reached for her again. The hard smooth chest was now uncovered to her eyes and hands. Sturdy muscle molded to his form. Her desire overwhelmed her, for a heart-wrenching moment she couldn't summon her mind to consider how to proceed properly, and she had the horrifying sensation of falling. Their carefully constructed platonic relationship might now be crumbling, by her own doing, and it was something on which she'd leaned so heavily, the vulnerability made her breath cease.

_No, you are not afraid. You are Temperance Brennan. You will not be afraid to have what you want._

She closed her eyes, stole just a tiny thread of faith from Booth's gut and plunged. A tiny thread was more than enough. And he found himself buried in her kisses.

As they crossed the threshold into her room, he dropped his attention to her neck and let one hand cup her breast. She whimpered faintly and let her head roll back. Booth's fingers moved to pinch her nipple and his jeans became tighter still when he realized...

"You're not wearing a bra." Brennan wasn't sure she'd ever heard his voice that low.

She rolled her head around until her cheek touched his hair. "It's a very supportive top."

"You want supportive?" he teased as he grasped firmly and kneaded.

Nothing would have pleased her more than to have him throw her on the bed and pound into her with all he had, but reason prevailed and she pulled her mind back just a bit.

"Booth."

"Mmm," he replied into her neck, hand now massaging her other breast.

"We've gotta take it easy. I'm still recovering."

_"Now _she gets it," he gasped in disbelief and pulled up to look in her eyes soberly. "Once you're better, you'd better believe i'm going to make you _scream _ my name all night long."

She nearly came right then, but managed to engage her vocal cords, "I'll inform the neighbors."

"Oh, they'll know." He caught her lips again.

Booth plopped her back gently on the bed, well clear of the headboard, and then followed. His mind began to plan. Carefully. He took a deep breath. _Slowly. _ He was certain that she was a woman who was quite capable of multiple orgasms and he vowed then and there that he wouldn't leave her wanting. But carefully. This could require some subtlety.

Booth leaned over her from the side and pressed his bent knee up between her legs. A low moan filled the room. He kissed her jawline along to her ear and nuzzled there a while, sucking on her earlobe, licking and letting her hear his soft breath.

Brennan's hands craved contact. She ran one along his arm, his chest, his back, whatever she could reach. The other dipped low. His breath came haltingly into her ear as she cupped the very hard bulge she found beneath the denim there and squeezed. It hadn't been merely fortunate angles that she'd observed before. The man had size and with each stroke she wanted more and more to taste him, to see how much of him she could take in her mouth. She said so. Surely that didn't count as strenuous activity.

Her hands and words were sweet torture. Not tonight, Bones. He tried not to imagine her mouth around his cock. Having the actual woman here beneath him was enough to endure without fantasies of her flickering across the insides of his eyelids. Fantasies in which she felt so good that he couldn't help but grab her head with both hands just to hang on. _Definitely not tonight._ Before long, he needed to move.

Nudging her legs further open with his knee, he let himself fall between them, resting against the juncture. He rubbed against her while still trying to keep himself calm. Slow, Booth. This would take all of his patience. And she was worth every scrap of self-restraint he had.

But as he pressed his weight into her hips, Brennan, who was keenly aware of how much clothing they still wore, decided that she needed more contact. Holding his shoulders even six inches above hers was much too far and she rose, propping herself up on her elbows to touch her chest to his and catch his lips again. Sweet lips. So soft. So loved. Her legs wound round his and she ground her hips back up into him.

Eventually, she couldn't keep her head from falling back, moaning and exposing all of her long neck. Booth nipped at it eagerly. Her hips that she was holding so firmly to his would very soon become too much, he thought. Time to move again.

Brennan felt the straps of her tank top being slipped down her shoulders and Booth's lips followed, kissing everything he uncovered. She shifted and pulled her arms out of the straps while he peeled her top downward slowly. He pressed his face into the crevice of her chest and fully released her breasts.

It seemed an impossible choice to make. He wanted so badly to see her all laid out, bare and beautiful before him, but there was no way he could fight the urge to catch a nipple in his mouth and inhale. His decision earned him a moan. After a bit, he pressed a similar kiss to the other and continued her shirt's journey downwards.

It was like he was slowly peeling away her defenses, her shell, her facade. It left her bare and vulnerable, but he worshipped what he found there with his eager lips, all love and reassurance. When he began to work at the button of her jeans, her hips buckled and the zipper echoed her sigh. And then her top followed her jeans and underwear over her hips and down her long legs.

It had almost all fallen away when she heard Booth begin to laugh. He pulled a rainbow-striped sock from one foot and held it up for her. She smiled and shrugged. The other sock followed the first onto the floor and he sat up, massaging the foot he'd just freed with those heavenly hands, letting his laughter fade and viewing her in her entirety.

His face radiated admiration. "You are so beautiful," he whispered.

Before she could think of anything to say, he was placing kisses along the inside of her arch, her ankle, up along her calf. He opened her legs and she shuddered when she realized his destination. The room was silent but for her long, voiceless breaths.

Booth placed a kiss on her folds and looked up her body to see her cup her breasts in both hands. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted. He dove.

He kissed up and down her soft lips and pulled back briefly. Her center glistened and he swelled to think that he had done that to her. His tongue darted out to taste more sweetness than he'd ever known. Kisses became interspersed with licks and he looped his arms under her legs to cup her firm backside. When he let his teeth gently brush her clit, he heard her gasp and opened his eyes long enough to see her bite down on her lip.

Several minutes passed where he lavished her folds exclusively, and finally he latched onto her clit and sucked. He pressed down with his tongue. He let it roll around her. She whimpered. _Ah, there we go._ He maintained the position as her cries became louder and his name filled his ears.

The fridge whirred. Against all odds, a midnight bird chirped. She came. Powerfully and trembling.

When she finally faded back to mild whimpers, he began kissing his way back up her body. He once again couldn't keep himself from making a detour to her breasts but she pulled his face to hers impatiently. She couldn't for one moment longer keep her eager kisses from covering his face.

Booth smiled cockily through the barrage. "Liked that, eh?"

Where she would normally bat down his ego, her desire overrode everything else. Her first orgasm had awoken a hunger for more. "I'd like you inside me." She clawed at his back.

"Okay, okay," he said soothingly, all the while trying to tone back the raging erection that was responding avidly to her. Then a thought crossed his mind and he paused and looked up at the ceiling in concentration.

"What?" she asked, taking deep breaths to try to calm her frustration.

"I'm trying to think where we shed my jacket."

She looked at him like he was crazy and cocked an eyebrow. "Already planning your escape?"

He raised an eyebrow right back at her. "Condom."

"Oh!" She debated for a moment, then spoke. "Well, I have some here," she nodded to the bedside table and paused again. "But I'm also clean. And on the pill."

He smiled. "So am I." One of the benefits of being single and celibate so long was that he knew his tests were definitely current.

"I don't usually go without a condom."

"Me neither," he said seriously.

"But, if we're both safe," and if she could trust him, which he'd proven a thousand times over, she took a gasp, "I really want to feel you."

He took her face in both hands and kissed her sweetly.

She abruptly thought about what he'd mirrored in her statement a few moments before and smiled. _So am I?_ "You're on the pill?"

He either didn't want to or couldn't release her lips. "Mmhmm," he deadpanned.

"Hmm."

"Mmm?"

"Maybe that explains some of your more," kiss, "traditionally feminine emotionally perceptive traits," she teased, deadpan herself.

He placed one more kiss to her lips before pulling back and looking at her. "Gee, Bones, you sure know how to turn a guy on."

"I try. But see, it just makes it all that much more impressive."

He kissed her softly. "What's that?"

"That you are _all _man," she rasped.

He growled and kissed her hard, pulling a loud moan from her. Evidence of his masculinity. He pressed the other evidence into her hip. She roughly threw her hands at his jeans and released him, kicking the denim down his legs. Somehow her toes even managed to catch the edges of his colorful socks and pull them from him as well.

Finally, after three years of long torture, they found themselves completely bare, skin to skin. It was the most wonderful and natural feeling she could remember. In any given situation, their eyes had always managed to find each other and they locked together now. Somehow she felt as though she had dived into them and had come up in a sepia photograph where everything was warm and simple.

"Now," she commanded.

"Yes, ma'am."

He thrust into her and everything was Technicolor. She could feel every torturous inch of the hard, smooth skin inside of her. "Oh, God. Booth, you feel so," her brow was tight, "so good."

His breath steamed against her neck. "So hot," he groaned as he thrust again, "so tight."

"Yes," she agreed.

He began a slow, deep, luxurious pace.

And quickly, surprisingly quickly, she repeated the word. "Yes, yes, yes. Booth, yes!" Suddenly, "Oh, God!" Apparently she was still worked up from her first orgasm. Her breath stumbled. _So close. _

He pulled back in concern, "Am I hurting you?"

She grabbed his head and brought his ear to her lips. "No-o-o-o," the word wavered in his ear. "Oh God, don't stop."

Deliberate strokes brought her to the edge. She couldn't discern the beginning of her orgasm, as though it had been ongoing since the beginning of time, she just found herself there in the midst of it. The low, rumbling quake rocked her body. It held on and refused to release her as long as she had voice left to sing to the night.

He'd seen beauty, but nothing so gorgeous as Temperance Brennan while she came. And he'd felt nothing so delicious as the draw of her wet heat. When he felt her clutch at him, heard her murmurs become unintelligible, he could hold out no more. His steady pace disintegrated and he released deep inside her, chanting her name heavily in her ear.

* * *

She slowly came around to soft, dark blue light penetrating her window blinds. Birds were beginning to chirp somewhere in the distance and the quiet hum of lazy Sunday morning traffic had begun. She felt pleasantly warm surrounded by blankets and arms with her fingers all curled up on a bare, slowly moving chest.

A chest? A male chest? A _very_ male chest? Her mind struggled for a moment.

But a smile drifted across her face as she inhaled the scent of trust and comfort. Her nostrils were filled with Booth, and the familiarity still made her skin tingle. She closed her eyes and rolled deeper into his shoulder as his quiet snore rumbled slowly through his chest to her fingers.

* * *

_not reviewing is like brennan responding to booth's question of how their lovemakin was with "eh, it was alright." and we know how much of a rift that would cause. before the weekend is over even!_

_come on, leave me some love. i even enabled anonymous reviews for you shy folks._

_so... how was it for you?_


	19. Distraction

_hey, peeps, i've gotta ask... what's the deal with everyone and their cold showers?? i say get a removable showerhead and turn up the HEAT! what, do you need me to write it for you?_

_hmmmmm..._

_thank you to all of my lovely reviewers. if a chapter strikes you in some way, you can bet that i did even more work than normal on it, and i already spend a lot of time on this story. after 17 chapters of "foreplay," i worked hard to try to get last chapter up to snuff. ...or smuff. hehe. and after all of that hard work, it's very rewarding to hear what you thought, so thank you again. :D_

* * *

She awoke the second time that morning to the feeling of his fingers running through her hair, steering clear of the site of her surgery. Brennan inhaled deeply.

"Morning, beautiful," his bedroom voice rumbled through his chest.

"Mmmm." A long exhaled sound.

"Wow, it's nice to be able to say that for real."

"For real?" She cleared her throat and her voice came slow. "Was it an insincere 'good morning' or an insincere 'beautiful' before?" she muttered into his chest.

"Both," he teased.

She pinched and lightly twisted his nipple.

"Ow! I just thought I wouldn't have to worry about physical retribution now, but I guess I was wrong."

She smirked into him. He felt it.

He tightened his arms around her. "How'd you sleep?"

"Like a rock, or a baby, or whatever nonsensical metaphor is appropriate in this situation."

"Nonsensical, eh?"

"Rocks are inanimate objects, Booth. They aren't alive and don't require sleep."

"I was aware of that."

"And babies are rarely reputed to sleep well."

"But you did."

She sighed and stretched. "Very."

The morning was clearly lazy. They stayed curled up for several minutes before Brennan's sleepily low voice was heard again.

"You know, that may well have been the best first date I've ever been on."

"Yeah? Even the end?"

"Especially the end."

He grinned and she could feel his ego swell.

She could feel something else swell.

If they were connected, she supposed she could let his ego grow on occasion, but she couldn't help but jab. "You also set a high standard for yourself. Nearly impossible to maintain."

"Good thing I'm impossibly wonderful."

"Good thing," she mumbled.

After a few more minutes in which neither of them seemed inclined to leave the other's arms, a muffled ring sounded.

She frowned. She would have been irritated at the interruption if she weren't so puzzled. Who ever called her on Sunday morning?

Well, Booth occasionally. But she had a sneaking suspicion it wasn't him.

She leaned off the side of the bed, feeling the light chill of the open air on her back and ass, and fished her phone from the jeans on the floor.

"Brennan," she said in a still very sleepy voice.

"Oh, sweetie, I'm sorry. Did I wake you?"

"Hey Ange." She plopped back down on the pillow next to Booth. "I woke up a few minutes ago."

"Wow, you never sleep this late."

Brennan glanced at the glowing 10:37 on the bedside table. "Well I've had fairly odd sleeping habits the last couple weeks."

"So," Angela barely managed to contain her excitement, "how was the big date?"

Booth stood up, showing off his spectacular backside, which Brennan paused to observe by the light of day as he stooped to pick up his boxers and slide them on.

Finally she brought her mind back to the phone in her hand. "Oh, it was really nice."

"Come on, woman, I need details!"

Booth looked back to her and mouthed, "Coffee?"

She nodded. "Well, you already know where we went, Angela. We had a good time. Saw some Aikido, taiko drums..."

Booth, on his way to the hallway, stubbed his foot on the doorframe and muttered an expletive in a loud whisper.

_Shit._ She spoke again quickly, "...we had a caricature done..."

"What was that?"

"...and Booth made me this beautiful origami rose."

"Brennan!"

"Did you know that Booth knew origami? I didn't." _Uh oh, Brennan, you're babbling._

"Yes I did, he made something for Daniel when we were locked in the lab over christmas and _is he still there?"_

"Goodman?"

"Booth!"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Angela."

"He is! Ohmigawd! He's still there! You call me the very second he's gone! I want details_, _you hear me? _Details, _ woman!"

And she was listening to dialtone.

Brennan laid there for another minute, listening to the squealing tires outside that could just as easily have been Angela's high-pitched squeaks piercing half the city in their journey to her apartment. She finally rolled out of bed and pulled down her rattiest, most comfortable robe from where it hung on the back of her bedroom door.

Pad, pad, pad. The sound of the coffee maker burbling reached her halfway down the hall.

"Well, Angela knows."

"You told her?"

_"You_ told her when you stubbed your foot on the door."

"She could hear that?" he asked, dubious, over a half-eaten banana.

Brennan's libido noted that a very attractive and well-built man was standing in her kitchen in nothing but boxers.

"I think it's more likely that your swearing was what clued her in."

He sighed, "Well, you probably would have told her anyway, right?"

She wanted to say no, that she would have kept it a secret, but... "Probably. Angela would throw a fit if I kept that from her. Booth," she looked at him with concern, "who do you think we _should _ tell?"

"Well, keeping it to ourselves might not be a bad thing for now, what with the whole _being partners_ thing."

She nodded in agreement.

"Angela can be discreet, right?"

"Definitely. But Hodgins probably knows by now too."

"Can he be discreet?"

"I think he can be when he wants to."

"Well then let's make damn sure he wants to." The muscles on Booth's chest rose and fell tantalizingly with his breath.

"Definitely not the bosses though."

"Not the bosses."

"For now at least."

The coffee machine beeped and he poured a mug for each of them. He stood with it in front of his face, and his brow furrowed.

"What is it, Booth?"

"I don't know. I was thinking about it yesterday and can't put my finger on it, but something feels incomplete."

Her lips betrayed a faint pout.

"Oh, no! No no no, not with you. With the case." He put down his mug, relocated hers to the counter as well and pulled her tightly into his arms. He was lying, he'd never been guy-hugging her. Though it did have a different feel when she was wearing no underwear and he was wearing nothing but. "You are even enough to distract me from my gut talking."

"I thought I heard it growling," she said into his neck.

_"Stomach _ growls, gut talks."

She pulled back and ran her fingers across his stomach. "And your gut's talking now?" her voice carried no hint of mocking.

"Yeah." He clenched for a moment. "It just feels like we're missing something, but I can't drag out a case on a funny feeling."

"I'll ask Hodgins and Zack if they found anything else tomorrow."

"It's very frustrating having it on my mind. The more I think about it, the more I get mired in it."

"You know, some psychologists believe that a mental impasse can be alleviated by unconscious restructuring of the problem."

"Okay, I _know _ you speak English, Bones."

Her face was tilted up toward his, eyebrows up, open as ever. "Sometimes the subconscious mind needs to take a break from the situation. Get some relief in order to gain new perspective." She stepped a little closer and ran her hands across his arms, shoulders.

"You hate psychology."

"That doesn't mean I'm not informed."

"So what do you suggest, Dr. Brennan?"

"Well, I'm willing to experiment with a little distraction." She snapped the elastic on the waistband of his boxers.

His mind, which had somehow missed her growing arousal, was instantly off the case.

Since he'd given her that flash of his glorious ass, she was very excited about the prospects of seeing all of the parts of her partner that she'd experienced the night before in the dark. He dragged his lips from where they'd met hers, travelled across her face and to her jawbone. She could feel him growing, pressed into her stomach between them, and she couldn't help but grasp for him.

Mmm. Definite size. She dropped down his front as slowly as she could manage, kissing as she went, and released him from his boxers.

He seemed to swell just a bit more when she exhaled in front of him. He looked powerful, erect. He was just as thick as she'd imagined, and, despite her usual focus on only what was real, Temperance Brennan had a vivid imagination. The fact that he lived up to it made her very wet.

When one hand couldn't fully encircle him, she added the other and brought her mouth to his head. Her tongue swirled and Booth moaned loudly. She slipped him further into her mouth and he groaned again, hips twitching slightly as though holding himself back from instinctual thrusts. She smiled and tested out what sounds she could draw from him. He responded to each tongue maneuver and finally let his head drop back with a loud sigh when she'd taken in as much as she could handle. Her mouth felt pleasantly full, her hand gripped the base of him and she began pumping him in and out of her hot, wet lips.

_Oh, God, she feels fantastic._ _And very enthusiastic,_ he thought. He looked down to see her long beautiful hair bobbing and when her ice blue eyes opened to look up at him, he shivered and had to fight the urge to grab her head. He didn't know how long he'd be able to control himself with the way her tongue was dancing, and the longer he waited the less likely he'd be able to. Dammit!

"Whoa, Bones." He pulled back from her and lifted her to her feet. "We're going to have to hold off on that for now."

_You're a masochist, Booth._

Her lip jutted out slightly again. "Why? It's not too strenuous for me."

"No, but I have a suspicion that I won't have too much control over myself and I tend to be pretty _hands on_. I don't think that would help your recovery." He took her head and kissed it gently.

"Oh," she said, disappointed. The thought of Booth out of control turned her on even further.

He could barely suppress an adoring laugh. He was having a hard time thinking of a woman who had ever been disappointed with him when he suggested that she skip giving him oral sex. He reached for the belt of her robe. "But I'm sure we can find some other way to distract me."

He let his hands roam her soft curves as he took her in with his eyes. He was surprised when the hand that explored between her legs discovered her already achingly wet.

"Wow, all this for me?"

"Tasting you turns me on. And if I can't have that, then we need to make good use of my arousal." She took him in her hand again. "And yours."

Without another word he lifted her to sit on the edge of the counter and spread her legs wide.

She could feel his heat inside as he stretched her. Thrusting this morning was intoxicating and insistent. Her head swam and her hips tightened.

"Fuck. Oh, shit, Booth!"

_What a mouth on her. _ He smiled. The brilliantly composed Dr. Brennan swore like a sailor in the throes of passion. Somehow, it seemed fitting. Before long, her swearing in his ear and her wetness around him had him very close. And when his thumb pressed her clit between them, it was only moments before she started calling out and spasming around his hard cock. He groaned, built a strong crescendo of five strokes and released into her.

He took several long breaths, kissed her gently, and looked deeply into her eyes before speaking.

"I'm starving."

"It _was _ your stomach growling."

"Gut too. Eggs?"

She nodded and they quickly and lightly set about making breakfast. At one point Brennan pointed to the clock and said it should really be considered lunch. Booth countered that any time of day was the right time of day for breakfast.

He was astounded by how easy this was. _It's scrambled eggs, Seel._ He mentally smacked himself. This relationship. They weren't awkward this morning as he'd worried they might be. Given, it was only the morning after, but he usually felt a shift after he'd slept with a woman. _Well,_ he thought, _when were the times when you've been awkward with Bones? _ When there was lack of honesty, when they'd been unclear about their feelings. Neither were the case now. A smile creeped across his face as he worked the pan on the stove.

* * *

They were talking over their empty breakfast plates when Brennan's phone rang once again from the other room and Booth's followed suit from his jacket on the floor. They gave each other a somber look.

"Well, at least catching a ride will be easy," she said before walking to her bedroom to retrieve her phone.

It was the only easy thing about their new case.

Brennan had worked enough with the FBI recovery technicians to trust their abilities, but after thirty seconds looking at the remains, she turned to Booth and said, "I'm going to have to do this recovery myself."

His face remained still.

She pointed out the brittleness of the bones, the amount of hard clay in the soil that held the remains firmly in its grasp. Booth pointed out the low temperature in the cellar. She told him to suck it up.

He looked at her in her thin crime scene jumpsuit and latex gloves from within his long overcoat and fur-lined gloves and marveled at how simultaneously genius and dense she could be.

The FBI technicians retrieved the necessary equipment to assist Dr. Brennan. Booth took care of transport arrangements and went to retrieve hot coffee more than once. She held her cup gratefully during the few breaks she allowed herself, warming her fingers as much as possible and pouring a little down her throat before crouching beside the remains again.

A preliminary examination showed a 35- to 40-year-old male, Mongoloid, approximately 5'8" tall. Cleaning would need to be done at the lab to recover much more information as hard soil still covered most of the details of the skeleton. What was clear was the mass radial fracture to the back of the skull.

Homicide.

It was a dark, foggy eleven o'clock before he dropped her off back at her place. She was exhausted and wanted nothing but a hot bath and a long sojourn with her pillow before delving into the bones the next morning.

Booth insisted that she needed to eat something and suggested the diner. Brennan looked down at her dirty clothing and hands and then back to him without comment.

"Seriously."

"I'll grab a granola bar when I get upstairs."

* * *

She didn't eat anything.

After a quick scrubbing in the shower to remove the grime, she filled the tub and settled herself in the hot water. Normally, she would light a candle as well, but she was just too... oh, hell. She reached for the matchbook and lit the pine-scented candle on the stand by the tub.

Deep breath. Deep sigh.

The remains were fresh in her mind. The crime must have been very violent. While she couldn't see much, many bits of bone she could see were fractured, and the blow to the back of the head appeared to have been a very heavy one. She rarely expressed it, but the violence of some of their cases effected her. She had spoken before about murder, particularly anonymous murder, as being so horrible partly because it was intentionally erasing a human being from the collective experience. It detracted from the whole, removed a beautiful and complicated facet from one of the few things she felt very strongly about.

And especially violent murder seemed to her the most callous insult. It was not killing in self defense, nor accidental manslaughter. Those harmed the whole as well, but without the same kind of loathing or intent. Violence unearthed malice not only for the victim, but for them all. She realized that these feelings didn't help her in any way; not in assessing evidence, nor in catching killers. But she wasn't able to help herself from feeling violated. She was a part of the whole, she occasionally felt the lines between 'the whole' and herself as 'part of the whole' were blurred. _How Buddhist, _ she'd thought on more than one occasion.

And on more than one occasion, she'd wept. Not for long, but long enough to acknowledge her belief.

It was a belief, wasn't it? She let out a brief chuckle. Booth would be delighted.

Booth. When his face inevitably popped to the fore of her mind, she felt comforted. They had different opinions, certainly, but she rarely felt that the essence of each was that far from the other.

She realized that she hadn't had time to think about their date, to think about how well it had gone. And it had gone well.

_Well, clearly._

She wasn't surprised. If anything, she felt affirmation. Of exactly what, she didn't know, but it was comforting. She didn't want to acknowledge that she needed comfort, but after a recovery like today's...

She let the solace and heat sink into her skin. Steam rose, fogged the mirrors. The candle's flame pirouetted beside her. Pleasing images flashed unmonitored before her eyes. Amongst them was her partner's sweat-beaded skin above hers.

Brennan was overwhelmingly tired, but her hand slid down her body when she recalled what had happened the night before.

The first time they'd made love there had been a lot of movement. Slow movement, certainly, but neither of their bodies had ceased.

The second time he positioned himself above her, he immediately dropped flush and laced his fingers into hers, holding them over her head. And once he'd entered her, the only movement had been their hips, gently rocking while their lips and tongues danced. Every whimper that she'd released into his mouth he'd swallowed hungrily.

The intensity of being so intimate with someone she already knew so well was startling. And on the brink she'd looked into his eyes with rapidly alternating disbelief (it was Booth) and raw lust (it was _Booth)_ before she fell hard. He'd rocked her through three rolling orgasms before letting himself go.

She added one to the memory's count now, after the fact, as she rippled the water with her shudders.

Relaxation then came easily, and she finally pulled herself from the water when she felt she was nearing sleep. She abandoned her wet towel in the bathroom, crawled between the covers without dressing, and was asleep moments after her head hit the pillow.

* * *

_so, what do you think of the morning after? it's a shame that they had to have a new case, i get the feeling that there might have been more, uh, exploration otherwise. fortunately, new cases tend to mean more contact between our heroes.  
_

_seriously, your reviews make me want to write. so please let me know what you think! after all, if i weren't properly inspired, i might feel the need to break them up and throw you another 17 chapters of foreplay._

_and you know i can do it. ;) leave me some love._


	20. Recovered Memory

_again, let me point out that i love love love my reviewers, and all of you other readers and non-reviewing alerters can so very easily be added to the big smoochfest. if you think that you don't have enough to say for a review, know that one of the wonderful things about getting reviews at all is that it lets me know that my readers are sticking with me. even short notes make me feel appreciated!_

_i'd also like to let you know i've begun another multichapter story. it's called Why, Zack? and is an attempt to fill in the gigantic gaping hole the show's writers left us in the finale. the story is all about zack reflecting on how he got to the point of committing murder and being locked up in a mental institution. i'm hoping for it not to interfere too much with posting for this story, it's a shorter chapter sort of thing, but i feel like it's something that needs to be said. so take a look if you're so inclined._

_k, on to the show... er... story!_

* * *

"Why didn't you call me?" Angela asked accusingly as Brennan entered the lab Monday morning.

"You told me to call when he left."

"Yes, I did," she said, still surly.

"But by the time he left last night I was too tired to do anything but sleep." They entered her office and she put down her things.

Angela's eyes went wide and she visibly shivered. "Ooh, we are _so_ having lunch today."

Brennan smiled ruefully. "Unfortunately, it wasn't _that_ kind of tired." She squinted, "Well at least it wasn't _all_ that kind of tired. We got a call about a new case not long after you phoned and we were there all day." She massaged her still-sore fingers.

"All day? Did you do the whole recovery?"

"I know, I usually don't, but this one was difficult. I'll fill everyone in when the remains get here."

Angela stood quietly for a moment and watched as her friend pushed the button to boot her computer. "But he did stay Saturday night, right?"

Brennan smiled. "Yes."

Angela could see her mind wander and she noted the extremely pleased expression. "I take it the man has some talent?"

"Mmm... and he's very... _generous."_

"Ohhh, we're gonna have to stop talking about this right now. I usually try to get a little work done in the morning before I whisk my man off to the storage closet. And I have a feeling that this is going to be hot."

Brennan flashed her eyebrows at her friend.

"Ooh!" Angela walked quickly out the door, yelling, "Don't say any more. Lunch!"

"Oh, Ange!" Brennan called her back.

"Yeeeesssss?" Angela's reply was long and animated as she poked her head back in the room.

"We're kind of keeping this on the ground low for now."

"The ground low?" She looked puzzled for a moment and then her face lightened. "You mean the 'down low'?"

"Whichever phrase translates to 'don't let Cam find out.'"

"Ah. _The ex."_

Brennan's eyebrows raised as though she hadn't considered it. "Well, we were more concerned about _the boss,_ but _the ex _ might be an interesting reaction as well."

"Mum's the word, so long as I can talk to Jack about it."

"Does he _not_ already know?"

Angela blushed.

"It's alright, Ange, just ask him to keep it quiet too, would you?"

"Sure thing, sweetie."

* * *

They wouldn't have to worry about Jack gossiping. He didn't even have time to visit the water cooler, let alone linger around it. Hodgins had claimed king of the lab every week that month. He was swamped. It seemed that everyone in the entire institution had something bug, slime or dirt that needed analyzing, identifying. As a result, he'd had barely enough time to get home and sleep, much to Angela's chagrin. And the new case had plenty to add to his plate. Unfortunately, this also meant that he hadn't had a chance to go over Booth's evidence.

Brennan and Zack were leaning over the remains on the table, pointing and muttering to each other in language only they two could really understand when she caught a whiff of his scent.

A split second later, she heard, "He does not look in good shape."

"No, Booth." She looked up into his warm eyes. "He's very dead." As much as she enjoyed seeing him, she was puzzled. "We don't have any additional information yet. What are you doing here?"

"Nice to see you too, Bones. I just swung by to make sure everything got here alright."

"It did."

"Good."

Brennan paused and observed him with interest, still bent over her table. "You're in a good mood," she noted.

"I had a good weekend," he said simply.

She cocked an eyebrow. "We spent the better part of yesterday digging up remains in an uncomfortably cold cellar."

"Guess I'm a glutton for punishment."

"You find out anything from the store owner?"

"Nah, he's out of town on business. We're tracking him down now."

Booth stood for a few minutes, pleased just to be in her presence while she discussed with Zack the special treatments he'd need to use while cleaning the bones. Hodgins had arrived and was beginning to take samples and Angela sat with her electronic sketch pad, looking at the skull on the table and making preliminary outlines. She rarely gave full sketches before tissue markers were placed, but Booth had to admit, Angela had gotten frighteningly good at seeing faces on skulls. He glanced at Zack, who had turned back to the remains, and gave Brennan a single, straight-faced wink.

Heat filled her stomach and she smirked back.

_Alright, time to let the squints do their thing. _ Booth pointed and leveled her with his eyes. "Dinner?"

She nodded.

Once Booth had gone and her team set to work, Brennan rushed off to her office to retrieve her purse. If she was quick, she might just make her visit and be back by the time Zack had the bones ready.

* * *

Max leapt to his feet when she entered the visitation room and crossed to her.

"Hi, Dad."

He hugged her and pulled back to look at her head, touching it gently, pain written on his face. "I'm so sorry, baby."

"You have nothing to be sorry about. It's not your fault," she replied simply.

"I'm sorry I couldn't be there with you. And I feel bad that you had to go through that."

It was clear that the parallel of having his daughter go through the very injury that had killed his wife was not lost on Max. He seemed as near tears as she had ever seen him.

"I'm fine, Dad," she said softly, smiling at him.

He took a deep breath and kissed her forehead. "Thank God," he whispered, pulling her into another hug.

When they finally sat, Max wiped the slightly moist corners of his eyes and sighed. "No complications from the surgery?"

"In and out. I'm really alright."

"Thank God you have friends to help out, all the same."

"Yes. They've been great."

"How's Booth doing?"

Brennan flushed. Her look betrayed it all.

Max smiled knowingly. "Good. I always liked that guy. He's almost good enough for you."

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "Are you trying to say you give permission?"

"Wouldn't dream of it, baby. That's not mine to give. How's work?"

"Busier than usual. The FBI is calling off our poisoning investigation."

"You caught the bastard?" He leaned forward on his elbows.

"The evidence pretty conclusively points to the guy who poisoned Columbo. Turns out he had a history with arsenic and the FBI." She relayed the story of the incident at the Academy.

"He almost killed Booth." Max looked stony.

"Booth's tough. And it turns out that his knowledge from the experience might have been what saved our lives."

"What does he think about this guy, this..." He waved an open hand in a gesture that looked like he was trying to crank his own brain.

"His name is Duncan."

Max dropped his hand. "... this Duncan guy? Does he think that's who tried to kill you?"

"He thinks..." Brennan chuckled at the wording she was about to choose, "his gut thinks it stinks."

"He doesn't believe the two attacks were by the same person?"

"He's just unsettled by the whole thing."

"Smart guy. I'm generally unsettled myself that someone poisoned you and then tried to run you down."

"We don't actually know that the latter was intentional."

"Did it feel like an accident?"

Brennan thought back. She'd been distracted, but it did seem like the driver was more aggressive than everyone else on the road. "No."

"Play it on the safe side, baby. Don't relax your watch. Is Booth still staying with you?"

"Why?" Brennan squinted at the 'manfolk protecting the womanfolk' implication.

Max shook his head. "So you can keep an eye on him. Make sure no one else tries to poison him. Wouldn't want anything to happen to my arresting officer." He smiled.

"Uh huh."

"Seriously, though. You hang onto that one, Tempe. He's a keeper."

* * *

"Bones, what the hell are you thinking with?"

"I didn't realize there was more than one possible answer to that question." Indignant.

"Clearly there is, because your brain can't possibly be operating on full capacity. Maybe they drilled a little deep."

"Just because you disagree with me doesn't mean I have brain damage."

"This isn't just a disagreement. This is a debate that is fundamental to everything that we stand for!"

She blinked and looked across the table at him.

"Hummus vs. buffalo wings?"

"Yes."

"Buffalo do not have wings, Booth."

"It's just a name, Bones."

"A misleading one. There isn't even any buffalo in them."

Booth turned it back on her. "What kind of word is _hummus?"_

"It's Arabic for garbanzo beans, which is exactly what the dish consists of."

"It's ground up legumes."

"It's healthy."

A timid voice from next to them spoke, "How about I just give you two a few more minutes to decide?"

"No," Booth spoke gruffly to the waiter. "We'll have them both."

"That'll be way too much food, Booth."

"We'll bring the leftovers home with us, alright, Bones?" he said irritably. "Extra food in the fridge in case we don't feel like cooking in the morning."

_Those two are going home together?_ the waiter thought as he took the rest of their order and made his way to the kitchen. He'd have been willing to put money on them not making it through_ dinner._

They sat quietly for a few moments.

"I think you scared the waiter, Booth."

"I think a ruffled kitten would have scared him."

"You were pretty intimidating."

He puffed up his chest just a little bit. "You think I was intimidating?"

"Okay, you are much too pleased by that."

When their appetizers arrived, Brennan scooped up some hummus on a piece of pita bread and held it out to her partner.

He looked at her like she was crazy. "I'm not eating that, Bones."

She pursed her lips and cocked her head. "You try just a tiny bite of this very tasty dish, or I tell Sweets about your affinity for intimidating people who are weaker than you."

"You wouldn't."

"Oh, wouldn't I? It's not like we have anything better to talk to him about, and we'll need to have a plan. He has a disturbing tendency to know when we're hiding something." Her hunger won out and she redirected the pita to her own mouth, "So, you have any interesting dreams lately?"

Blood rushed quickly through Booth's mind at the loaded question. He leaned forward on his elbows and looked with purpose into her eyes. "Have _you?"_

She hadn't been thinking about that, but she was now, and her cheeks flushed. He held her gaze.

He was looking at her like... like he knew. "You were awake?" Half a whisper.

He held his arms out. "Army Ranger turned FBI Agent here, Bones. You thought I could sleep through that? Lying in bed with a gorgeous woman in my arms, breathing those," he took a quick breath, "sexy moans into my shoulder, into my neck, and then calling out my name? That's one of the hottest things I've experienced."

Her embarrassment showed on her face only briefly before she recovered. "And you managed not to touch yourself?"

"Yeah, I should be canonized for that." He paused. "Tell me about your," he flashed his eyebrows, "dreams." _You are a sucker for punishment, Booth. You want to hear about this in public where you can't do anything about it?_

"Dream. Singular."

"You had at least two."

"I only have memory of one." Matter-of-fact.

"That's right, I forgot that you don't remember the ducks and pond one."

_"That _ dream was a sex dream?"

"Your moaning seemed to suggest so."

"No wonder I was so relaxed that morning." She pondered. Tell Booth about her sex dream here at dinner? It sounded a little odd.

It also sounded a little hot.

"Well," pause, "you know how you were giving me a lot of massages?"

"I seem to have some vague memory of that, yes," Booth teased.

"Well, in the one I do remember, you were rubbing my back, and then," she closed her eyes, imagining it again, and breathed, "I felt your hot breath on my skin. Then you were kissing my back... _all _ over my back, and my neck." She opened her blues again and looked into his. "And then, of course, you were feeling me up. Everywhere but the one place I especially wanted you."

"That must have been when you begged for me to touch you."

"I did that out loud?" she asked, horrified.

His cocky smile floated across the table.

Blue eyes narrowing, "And what did you do?"

"I was a perfect gentleman."

She raised an eyebrow.

"Well," he looked away at the ceiling, "my hands were around you already anyway, if they massaged a bit more, I can hardly be blamed."

"Opportunist."

"Nothing untoward," he said defensively. "What can I say? You're a hard woman to turn down."

"But then I woke up before you could finish."

"Dream me," he clarified.

"Dream you," she agreed.

"So you finished it yourself."

"You heard that too?" Even more horrified.

"I like a woman who's willing to take care of her own needs. It means she's better able to tell you what to do to ensure that she has a good time. And I'm all about you having a good time." Charm smile.

"A perfect gentleman," she repeated.

They ate in silence. She worked at her soup with a contemplative look until suddenly her eyes lit up like a sunny sky. She said nothing, but ate a bit faster.

Over the rest of their meal, they discussed the remains they'd unearthed Sunday. Zack was investigating possible combinations of disease and corrosive agents that could have degraded the bone to the point they'd found it. When he ordered his third beer, she extended her hand across the table and wiggled her fingers in a gimme gesture. Booth obediently passed over his car keys.

She deposited them in her purse gleefully. She was going to get to drive tonight!

* * *

The sky was hastening toward black, the parking lot full of cars and empty of people when they left.

When she approached the passenger's side of the Tahoe to unlock the door for her slightly tipsy date, she instinctively pulled the handle to the back seat instead.

He looked his puzzlement at her and she threw him a 'trust me' look. He shrugged and got in. She followed, placing her left knee on the seat and swinging her right so that she straddled his lap and pulled the door shut behind them.

"Bones!" he exclaimed, half admonishment, half shocked arousal.

"I remembered my duck dream."

"And you just couldn't wait to get home to tell me about it?"

She locked her gaze on him.

"Or else you're planning on _showing_ me."

She cocked an eyebrow and grinned, messying his hair from where her fingers were playing behind his head.

His arms fell around her and he snugged her in close. "How exactly do wild fowl play into this?"

"They were much earlier." She began kissing his face and moved downward slowly.

"Bones, we are in a very public place here."

"Mmhmm," she muttered to the side of his neck, where she was nibbling. "In a car with tinted windows."

"Only the rear windows are tinted."

"So we have to remain more clothed than we normally would. But I am wearing a skirt."

I noticed that. Booth considered. When she ran her tongue inside his ear he seemed to reach a decision, grabbing her ass and pulling her still closer.

"I'm tempted to think you planned that outfit."

She took his hand and guided it beneath her skirt to her center. She wasn't wearing any underwear. Booth found himself very hard very fast.

"You'd be right. I wasn't planning the car though. That was courtesy your dream conversation."

He moaned. His fingers were sliding lightly over the sensitive skin with ease, already very lubricated. "How can you be so wet after one minute in the back seat of my car?"

"Also courtesy of your dream conversation."

She impatiently began pressing on his fingers, encouraging them to stroke her folds, to tease her clit. It didn't take much prodding for him to pick up the pace himself, and she turned her attentions to the hard bulge prominently detailed inside his slacks.

Booth's mind reeled. She certainly was forward, and he couldn't have been happier. "This brings a whole new meaning to the term 'backseat driver.'"

"What?"

"Nevermind," he gasped as she worked at his belt, unbuttoned his pants and eased the zipper down. He raised his hips for her to move his clothing just enough to release him, springing upright. She smiled and wrapped her fingers as far as she could around his girth, stroking lightly.

He removed his hand from the wetness and brought it to meet the other at her ass, pulling her over him. Just the very head of his cock had entered her when she began rolling her hips, causing it to press all around her opening. Breathing came in short, erratic bursts until they finally and simultaneously thrust themselves together.

His low, throaty groan filled the car as he started to move inside of her.

"Fuck. I love how you fill me," she whimpered and her voice cracked.

Brennan slid herself up and down his massive cock for just a few moments before Booth wrapped his hands behind her back and hooked them over her shoulders. He pulled her down to his lap and held her there firmly.

"Better let me do most of the movement here. You're a bit conspicuous bouncing up and down and we're getting occasional passer-bys." She glanced behind her and saw a couple making their way to a car a few down from where they were. She looked back at him, rolled her eyes the tiniest bit and nodded.

He met her eyes and pushed his hips up, pressing even more of his length into her and her breath caught.

"Too much?"

"Never." She kissed him as he thrust up into her again.

Brennan was struggling to remain discreet as the sensations induced by his movement raced across her skin. Her hands played across his chest and she pulled back to watch them. Nails dragged from the back of his torso around the side and she felt the crisp white fabric of his dress shirt mold against his skin. She could imagine him walking with his easy lope, standing with hands holding back his jacket, straightening his tie when he was mentally composing himself. The bright red tie made its way into her hands now and she pulled at it desperately. She watched his broad shoulders tense along with his stomach as he repeatedly pressed up into her. He was driving her crazy.

"You look," she chuckled and gasped at once, "really good in a suit. Almost as good as you do out of one."

"Yeah, well you're gonna have to put up with the suit for now, Ms. I-can't-even-wait-to-get-home-to-jump-you." He surreptitiously slipped a hand under her shirt and brought it up to pinch her nipple through the bra.

The increased pleasure made her buck, and she leaned back until her shoulders were propped against the back of the passenger seat. At this angle, she quickly discovered, he was hitting her g-spot with each thrust. Her head flew back and she cupped a hand over her mouth. Breathing was heavy through her nose. Her body hummed and her hand muffled a steady string of curses that coincided with each glorious stroke.

The tingle began at the top of her head and trickled down like the pour of warm molasses. Booth slipped a hand under her skirt and began circling her clit with his thumb. She released a loud cry into her palm.

It was incredibly erotic watching her leaning back, putting her body on display for him, even fully clothed, as he caressed her depths. The ministrations of his hand had her shaking. When he could feel her release building, he increased his long strokes into her. Harder. Faster.

"Come with me, Booth," she pleaded, finally removing her hand from her mouth and letting her cries roam.

Who was he to deny her?

With his free hand he reached under her and lifted her hips. The simple shift pushed them both over the edge, her clenching strengthening the force of his pleasure. His name stretched unbroken from her throat while she shook.

When they were both reduced to deep breaths, he put his hands behind her back and pulled her to him, kissing her hungrily. She responded and put her arms around his neck.

"That do the dream justice?"

"Eh," she teased, still out of breath. Her cheeks were flushed. "I'll let you try again if you like."

"How about we head back to your place first? I don't think I can handle any more of this whole _being clothed_ thing."

They jumped into the front of the car and she motored them off home.

* * *

When tipsy, Booth always found himself hyper-aware of his surroundings. He noticed the crack on the third step leading up to her unit, the decorative glass globe on the table in the lobby, the security logo next to Bones' door. The way her hips swayed in front of him in that flowy skirt that had not twenty minutes before been spread across his lap.

When they entered, his eyes locked on the origami flower he'd made for her lying on the counter and he frowned.

"Well that won't do!" He proceeded to grab a sheet of newspaper and folded a paper vase. When it was done, he placed it on the counter, added the rose and looked up. She was sitting on a bar stool next to him and smiling, holding out a glass of water to him and drinking from one of her own.

Brennan swallowed the gulp she'd just taken. "Thought you might be thirsty."

"Thanks, Bones. I'll need this to gear up for the next round."

* * *

_remember, a writer who feels appreciated is a happy writer. and a happy writer writes faster! and, you know, keeps writing! anonymous reviews are still enabled. leave me some love!_


	21. Mindblowing Combination

_i must say, i personally hate it when i can't see the end of a fic coming, when it's suddenly sprung on me. one of the advantages of reading a hard copy of a book, or even an ebook that has a determinate length is that you have a rough idea of how far you have to go. kinda lets you get your mind set up for the progression of the arc. so, with that in mind, my sketch is getting more and more solid as we go and the current estimate is about 28-29 chapters. certainly no fewer._

_i've said it before, repetition doesn't make it any less true. your reviews are so wonderful. i can't always reply to every one, with a full time job and two ongoing fics, but they are ALL appreciated. they keep me writing and they make me want to do an extra good job for all the wonderful people i know are following me on this crazy road._

* * *

It was two glasses of water later that she found herself groping her way down the hallway with Booth. Jackets, tops, and her bra had fallen to the floor en route. She fell on top of him on the bed, frowned, and whined a little.

"What?"

Brennan pouted. "I want to be on top."

_Did she just pout? _ "I hate to break this to you, Bones, but you are on top."

"I mean for sex."

He shrugged and smirked. "Works for me."

"But I'm not supposed to be doing any heavy lifting."

"I'd hardly call you 'heavy'..."

"Booth..."

"I know what you mean. Look, you just relax and," kiss, "I'll take care of the _heavy lifting_ for now," he took a breath, "and we'll expand our repertoire when you're feeling more up to it." He dropped his chin and ran his nose up to nuzzle just above hers while he kissed her upper lip.

She supposed that was acceptable.

His kiss was reeling her in, she felt helpless to its pull. Then he broke their lips apart abruptly.

"Unless, of course, you want to wait until you're feeling all better to do anything at all," he teased.

She growled and pulled him back up to her.

"Easy, Bones. Recovering, remember?" he muttered into her mouth.

"God, Booth, I want you," she said back into his.

"Me too."

"You want yourself?"

He pulled back and looked at her. "Yes, Bones, I want you to scram on up outta here so I can rock my _own _ world."

The prevailing joking winds caught her. She shrugged and stood up.

Booth sprang to the side of the bed, snagged her around the belly and began placing kisses there, letting his hands slide to cup her round ass over the gauzy fabric of her skirt. His fingers took advantage of the slack in the material and ran along the inside of her legs, tracing her bikini line.

"So not yourself, then," she said.

"No. I want you. I want all of you."

He let his right hand slide to her hip and hooked a thumb into the top of her skirt. At the same time his mouth moved to her other hip and he snagged the skirt there with his teeth. Mouth and thumb trailed the fabric from her hips.

He paused his movement. "You have a birthmark," he noted.

"Astute observation, Agent Booth." Breathy, hands in his hair.

He kissed it and let out a low laugh. "It looks like a rutabaga."

"It does not!" she squeaked.

He stripped her of her skirt, unbuttoned his slacks and moved his hands back up to her hip.

"I'm looking right at it, Bones, and I'm telling you, that's a rutabaga."

His hands slid around to her backside again and she exhaled, "It's a birthmark."

"Which looks like a tuberous root." He stood and moved close to her, letting the heat of his bare chest warm the small space between them. His face tilted down toward hers, close. She felt his exhale against her lips.

_It's an evolutionary response necessary to the survival of the species, _ she thought when her knees nearly buckled at his very masculine stance hovering over her. _That's all it is, _ she reasoned when his hungry eyes caused her stomach to flutter. But when he wrapped her in his arms and husked her name, her brain shut off and she threw her lips into his.

She finally sent her hands to release him from his remaining clothing. It really only took a nudge for his already unbuttoned and unzipped slacks to fall to the floor and his boxers soon followed.

Her movements were still forward, but had somehow become coy as well now, which surprised Booth. It was not what he expected after that racy interlude she'd concocted in the back of his truck. He was beginning to get a grasp of his partner as a lover, and she seemed to vary in different sexual situations. It was allowing him to vary his actions. And it was exactly the kind of thing that he suspected might never grow old. He was gobsmacked by the hint of a future it laid open for him.

He pressed her back on the bed and was hovering between her legs, kissing her full breasts. The heat from their hips agitated the air between them and Booth was beginning to feel a very strong need to be inside her. But what his instinct spurred him to do next surprised even him.

He sat back on his heels. He could see the disappointment in her face when he moved further away. And he watched it turn to outright desire as he caught her lower back with both hands and pulled her hips up into his lap.

She was feeling a bit helpless in the face of her lust at the moment, which was fitting as she didn't have a whole lot of control in this position. She wrapped her legs around his torso. Okay, that was what control she had. Normally, she might have complained, but the arousing man holding her hips so close to heaven was making her feel downright weak. She wanted to be removed from the tension. She desperately wanted him to finally fill her and make her come. She said so.

He looked down at where they nearly met and laughed.

"You know," she breathed in frustration, "in our society, laughing is not considered an appropriate response in this situation."

He looked back to her face with sparkling eyes. "Turnip hip."

She rolled her eyes at him, but couldn't help but find his drunken silliness adorable. Then, without warning, he was filling her as requested. More than requested. Her eyes rolled back in her head again, an entirely different reaction, and moans echoed through her apartment.

Fingers gripped her lower back, palms cradled the sides of her hips and thumbs reached as far as they could around her waist. He held her off the bed as he simultaneously thrust and pulled her onto his hard length. Brennan's back arched and the chill air surrounded her increasingly damp skin.

She was wrong about expecting the anticipation to end when he entered her. His cock sweating inside her was building a new tension. It grew steadily, it grew slowly. She groaned a shudder at a particularly deep thrust and let her hands loose.

Booth was just realizing that in this (admittedly very hot) position, he had no recourse to kiss her, to touch her, to do anything but watch her body gather beads of sweat before him. Before he had even a moment to think on it, though, Brennan had taken matters, quite literally, into her own hands.

The skin of her breasts felt silky to her fingers and digits roved across the slick skin. She pinched a nipple and the other hand dipped lower, snaking slowly downwards, taking its time. She caressed her hips, relishing the added pressure inside when she pressed on her abdomen. For some reason, she regularly veered near but stayed clear of the sensitive nub.

When she looked at her partner's face, noticed his rapt attention to her hand's deliberate torture.

"Why aren't you touching yourself?"

"I think this counts pretty conclusively as touching myself," she sighed as her hands switched places to give the other breast the same attention.

"Not your..." she pressed on her abdomen again and he grunted. "You're not touching your clit."

"I don't want to come just yet."

"You were begging for it just a bit ago."

"I changed my mind. I want to wait."

"You do realize you can have multiple orgasms, don't you? I feel like we're on the wrong sides of this discussion."

"It's building," she moaned. "When I touch my clit, I'm gonna come hard." Heavy exhale. "So hard."

He shuddered and gripped her tighter. "It makes me crazy when you come."

That did it. The thought of Booth out-of-control made her hurtle toward the edge, and she finally began to draw circles on her swollen clit. "Boooooth, fuck me hard," she cried long and he obliged, stroking harder and faster. Her legs clung to him for dear life and she left her mind for a brief moment, floating on the feeling of safety before rocketing downwards into spasms.

She arched her back away from the bed, as though the heat would set the sheets on fire. Some part of her knew it was illogical, but when she got her up and down confused, when she could smell his heartbeat, when she tasted the color blue, she was far from certain about things like pyrolysis or combustion. She couldn't place any faith in the normal laws of physics when Seeley Booth was in her bedroom.

He was still moving inside her when she finally came down. She'd barely been able to think how much she wanted to be pressed close to him when his arms looped beneath her shoulder blades and pulled her upright into his hard body. Their tongues tangled together fluidly as though they'd been doing this dance for a long time.

He'd been planning to keep her from overexerting herself by holding her tightly to him while he re-established his rhythm, but he got more than he bargained for. Once he was in reach, she loosed her hands, touching, caressing every bit of him she could reach. Brennan's lips soon found their way to his ear, where she sucked and moaned. Her low voice resonated straight through him.

Any one of the elements he could have handled individually, but the combination spurred the tightly wound storm. His desire overwhelmed him, he was drowning in her. He felt her pressing in on him from all sides.

_I'm gonna come._

He wasn't certain he'd actually said it out loud, but she replied, "Yes, Booth. Oh, God, yes. Come for me."

His thrusting was erratic when he finally lost control and let the storm flow. He could hear her crying his name into his ear and feel her clutching at him, clamping down inside again. Booth buried his face in her neck and bit lightly at her collarbone.

When both their orgasms were spent, they fell sideways to the mattress, heads mostly toward the foot of the bed and lay there quietly, stroking each other.

"I don't like turnips, Booth."

"Well, of course not, you've always got one on you. Probably sick of them by now," he spoke into her skin.

His hands traced her curves like an old lover. If she'd believed in reincarnation, she would have been tempted to think that they'd been together in another life. He kissed her wetly just beneath her ear and she melted. Okay, several other lives. It felt too right to have been only a few days.

She'd been with men before who knew all of the secrets of a woman's body. They had been strictly physical partners. Angela had called them players, men who knew how to pleasure a woman and who would use their knowledge to acquire permission for what became one-night-stands. It had been fine with her, she usually preferred strings-free sex herself, but she'd agreed with Angela that when it came to relationships, even supposedly retired players weren't the way to go.

So when she closed her eyes and felt Booth move as though he'd lived lifetimes touching her body, when she felt that he knew infinitely more about her anatomy than anyone she'd ever been with, she was reminded momentarily of men who were so skilled that they weren't to be trusted with one's heart.

But then she opened her eyes.

And saw the man she knew, who was looking as deeply into her eyes as he had since the day she'd met him. Booth had proven himself trustworthy time after time. With her secrets, her fears, her life. He had fought with her, he had challenged her, and he had never once let her down. They had grown into discourse that consisted of more than verbal communication, more than body language. They had learned to think together, to be within each others' heads. So when it came to trusting him with her heart, it wasn't even a shift, they were already there. She decided that it was merely a matter of looking at each other differently.

And she was quite content to look at him differently, she thought as she craned her neck and let her eyes tumble down the long, long expanse of back to his chiseled ass.

Being one, breaking the laws of physics, didn't seem to be making two objects occupy the same space as one, it was expanding the two objects so that each also occupied the space of the other. Two didn't become one, two became so much more than the original two.

Equally physically impossible.

Was that the meaning of love? To incorporate another into oneself? A great emotional venn diagram? If so, they had been in love for a very long time.

She'd once told Dr. Gordon "Gordon" Wyatt that she wanted to observe from inside Booth's head, and he had interpreted that as wanting to "be one" with him.

She was suddenly pressed with the need to know.

"Booth, what does it feel like to be inside of me?"

"What?" he asked, suddenly very confused. He was clearly not in her head at the moment.

"Tell me how if feels when we're making love."

Booth was suddenly very aware of every molecule of air that entered and left his lungs. He was certain that if he focused hard enough, he could have given a count of how many molecules of oxygen, hydrogen, nitrogen had passed his voicebox unused since she'd asked.

But he couldn't answer. If it were any other woman he'd think she was fishing for compliments, but she had an expression of utter curiosity on her face. He wanted to oblige, but he was having a hard time describing how making love to her was different from every other woman he'd been with.

"It feels like... well i didn't realize it was possible to feel so close to someone."

She rubbed up against him, "Okay, I know you've been _close _ to other women before."

"I don't mean physically close. Look, Bones, you know the way we think together?"

"How we follow the same chain of reasoning."

"Yes. And sometimes we barely need to even look at each other."

"Right."

"What does that feel like to you?"

She paused and smiled. "It's like we're inside each other's heads."

"Exactly. Making love to you is being in your body," he pulled her hips to his, "and in your head, and in your heart. I haven't experienced that combination before. Body, yes. Body and heart, yes. Body, heart, and head? Never."

"And it's good?"

He kissed her deeply as they drifted toward sleep. "The combination is mind-blowing."

* * *

"Hurry up, Bones. We're going to be late," Booth said from the kitchen as he straightened the tie of the spare suit he'd retrieved from his car.

"Just go and I'll drive myself," she called from down the hallway.

"Your car is at work."

"Damn." There was a pause and a clatter. "Okay, I'll be just a minute."

They were rushing so quickly that Booth almost didn't notice the little glass globe in the lobby that was now lying broken on the floor.

"Did I do that stumbling in here last night?"

Brennan looked down and pulled on her jacket. "No, there must have been some other drunken fools coming through."

"Hope they had even half as good a time as we did." He stopped next to the table, debating whether he should clean it up.

"Leave it, the caretaker will be by soon, he'll get it. And I thought you were in a hurry."

Booth managed to make it to the Jeffersonian in good time.

"And without even using your siren," Brennan said pointedly.

"I thought the traffic would be worse," he said defensively. "I'll talk to you later."

She looked around for a moment and then leaned in to place a soft kiss on his lips. "Talk to you later."

He'd developed a very easy, regular pattern to getting ready in the morning. It was focused around a simple and efficient procedure, and it centered him for his day. This morning had been utter chaos, the kind of thing that should have made him off-balance, but as he watched her walk up the steps, he felt more peaceful than he had in a long time.

* * *

_my muse had some trouble with this chapter. what do you think? she's been a little flighty lately. let's all send her love and chocolate. each click of the button sends her a little foil wrapped kiss._


	22. Following a Lead

When she opened her eyes that morning, she was briefly confused. Since when was her bedroom backwards?

_Since Booth started rocking you to sleep._

Ah, right.

She reached her arms off the foot of the bed, drawing her sinewy body out as long as possible, rotating her hips for more of a stretch, and letting out a deep throaty moan.

A hand appeared from behind her and rested on her stomach. "Now that's a sound I can definitely handle waking up to."

"Morning, Booth."

"Good morning. You're up early."

With seemingly little effort, he pulled her hips back so that her bare ass nestled in his lap and let his hands wander up her front. She ground herself back against his hard shaft. "So are you."

Brennan luxuriated for a bit with the feeling of his smooth, warm skin against her back and his hands lightly stroking her front. He breathed deeply next to her ear. Eventually, she brought a hand up and pinched her nipple, but Booth knocked it away. "That's my job."

She reached back behind his head and brought it rougly to her neck in rebuke. If he wanted to ravish her, far be it from her to stop him, but he'd better get on it.

Booth somehow snaked his other arm beneath and around her and sent both to caress her torso, stopping just north of the junction of her legs. Each time he dipped near, she raised her knee higher, opening herself to him, but he didn't go where she wanted. Finally, in frustration, she hooked her upper leg behind his knees and brought her own hand to rub between her legs.

Booth's hand was quickly there, pushing hers away again. "I said, that's my job," he growled into her neck.

"Then _do_ your job, or I will."

Booth smirked and obligingly touched her. "Damn, woman. Are you always wet?"

"I had a good dream," she exhaled, pushing her hips towards his hand.

"Yeah?"

"I was sucking you off."

His hips bucked forward involuntarily. The head of his cock slid along her wetness.

She smiled at his reaction and continued, "You were so big in my mouth."

He'd been planning on spending more time simply feeling her up, but he couldn't help but bring his head to her center and slide inside.

She felt like she'd been swallowed by a spirit of idle discovery. Blue light. No rush. All pleasure. "So big," she whispered. "Oh, so full."

He stayed still inside of her and brought his lips to her ear. "Then what?"

Her mouth opened and closed, her tongue darted out as she imagined her dream. She began rotating her hips. "I did this circle thing with my mouth and... ohhhh." She breathed heavily.

"And what?" He pulled out of her a little bit, taunting her.

"And you were enjoying yourself," she said, cocking an eyebrow. She used the foot that was still behind him to try to draw him back all the way into her again, but he kept the distance. "You tease."

"Tell me about it. Tell me why it makes you so hot."

"I took as much as I could of you in my mouth," she replied, hoping he would mirror.

He did. She found herself full of him and she moaned again. "I could see your face. I could see you watching me lick you." The muscles inside her twitched and now it was Booth's turn to release a low, grumbling moan.

"I could see the effect it had on you." He began to thrust slowly in and out of her. "I could see you fighting yourself to keep your precious control." He thrust deeper. "And I could see that I could tear it away from you. God, Booth, you make my pussy so wet."

He growled loudly into her neck, "Don't you forget it."

She was moaning nearly continuously but managed to maintain her speech. "And when I finally did, when you lost control," he punctuated the word with a powerful thrust, "you started pumping into my mouth and all I could do was hold on." Her speech disintegrated into whimpers as his pace increased.

Booth kissed the back of her neck. He bit it. He lavished his tongue over the skin he could reach while holding her tightly against his body and pounding into her. She grasped at his ass and clutched with her fingers, urging him deeper.

She had no control over her orgasms that morning, Booth gave them to her, he controlled each one, made it dip, weave. He punctuated them with her cries and made her call his name again and again. He curled around her, possessing her, devouring her. And she responded to it all, taking in everything he poured into her, turning her head for a long, sonorous kiss before they finally fell flat in the pillows.

* * *

Booth bounced the phone receiver back in the cradle and settled behind his desk with a sigh. The shop owner's wife said that he had left the previous Friday to visit his cousin in Baltimore. This was news to the cousin.

A boyish face peeked inside the door, "Agent Booth?"

Booth ran his hands over his face, "Yeah, Charlie."

"Shall I call the Baltimore PD and get them to help in the search?"

"That'd be great." He removed his hands and slumped in his seat.

Charlie watched him for a few moments and then offered, "Maybe some pie would help."

"What?"

"You look tense, and pie always cheers you up. I saw Vera putting what looked like rhubarb in the display at the diner this morning. You could take a break, or I could go pick some up for you."

"Thanks, Charlie. Maybe in a little while."

Not knowing the location of a suspect would never frustrate Booth this early in the case, but he was still uneasy about the poisonings. His mind optimistically suggested that his recent "distractions" with his partner might have jostled the puzzle pieces enough so that they could more easily fit together. When the younger agent left, Booth began running through the order of events and evidence in his mind. His mind clicked into a detached third person mode.

_Friday lunch: Booth goes to grocery store, buys a few non-spoilable items, including syrup. Groceries are locked in his trunk. _

(It wasn't exactly protocol, but he'd discovered that his spare gun locker made a damn good place to keep purchases without them rolling all over the place.)

Friday afternoon: Brennan injured in the lab, rushed to hospital. Syrup remains in car.

Friday evening: Booth brings Brennan home from the hospital. Car alarm has not gone off, syrup is secure.

Friday night: Assailant breaks undetected into Booth's apartment while they sleep, replaces unopened bottle of syrup with poisoned one.

Question: How is the poison introduced into the unopened bottle? Did the bottle get sent to the Jeffersonian along with the other evidence or is it in storage at the FBI? Mental note to check.

_Saturday morning: Booth opens bottle of syrup. Booth and Brennan consume syrup, both fall ill from arsenic poisoning._

_Monday morning: Evidence sent to Jeffersonian. Hodgins determines that the arsenic was in the syrup and locates particulates from a footprint in Booth's kitchen._

_Thursday evening: Booth and Brennan released from hospital._

_Friday evening: Columbo falls ill from arsenic poisoning. Assailant remains behind and proceeds to assault Columbo, makes a call and leaves._

Question: Who did the assailant call? An accomplice? His wife? The dry cleaners? Is the potential for an accomplice here what has been bothering him?

_Tuesday: Rossi delivers sample of Columbo's arsenic-laced drink to the Jeffersonian. Booth has samples from Quantico arsenic case sent to Jeffersonian for comparison._

_Wednesday: Hodgins determines that the poison used on Columbo and that used in the Quantico incident was from the same batch, likely the same assailant, and different from the arsenic used on Booth and Brennan._

_Thursday morning: Rossi arrests Robert Duncan for poisoning of Columbo and the Quantico incident._

_Thursday afternoon: Unidentified car nearly hits Brennan. Hodgins compares particulates from Booth's kitchen footprint with sample from Duncan's shoes. They are a match. Rossi locates white powder at Duncan's home, vial is sent to the Jeffersonian._

_Thursday evening: Brennan's condition becomes critical and she is rushed to the hospital. Undergoes surgery for subdural hematoma._

Unrelated to the case. But all he could think about for two days.

_Monday morning: Hodgins determines that the substance found at Duncan's home is identical to the poison used on Booth and Brennan._

_Monday afternoon: Booth sends duplicate evidence from Columbo and Duncan to the Jeffersonian. Hodgins is swamped with other work, has been thus far unable to recheck._

"Seeley." His name floated through the air in her low, italian lilt.

Booth looked up at the sound of his name. Rossi had entered his office, a file folder in her hand.

"How is Doctor Brennan? She is out of the hospital, yes?"

He looked surprised at her concern.

"What do you think I am, some horrible vindictive bitch?"

Booth took that split second too long to deny it.

"A bitch I am. That is unmistakable. A woman must have extraordinary strength to achieve the position I have in the FBI. I am not shy about it. But your partner, she is important to you, this is also unmistakable. She is someone to be considered."

"Well, yes." He blinked again and finally answered, "She's back home, back at work, and is doing very well, all things considered. Thank you for asking."

"Would you please ask her to sign these forms for the Columbo case?" She passed the folder to him and left with a sly smile.

Booth took a deep breath, trying to process everything. Perhaps Charlie was right. He could use a break and perhaps he could convince his partner to join him when he dropped these off.

* * *

"Pie, Bones. With an E. Not three-point-one-four-five whatever."

"Three-point-one-four-_one_-five," corrected Zack.

"Thanks, Zack. Because it's really crucial we have that digit straightened out," Booth shot at him.

"I don't like pie," Brennan replied, face still mere inches away from her remains.

"And that's stopped you from a coffee break before?"

"Booth," she finally stood up straight and put her hands on her hips, "we're in the middle of a test. I don't have time for coffee right now."

He grunted and resigned himself to a solo break. "Fine." He held up the folder, "Rossi asked me to have you sign these."

Brennan had already bent back over her bones and didn't look up. "What are they?"

"Something about Duncan, I think."

"Descriptive reply. Very helpful."

"Look, I didn't read them in detail. Were you this sarcastic before you met me?"

"Uh huh."

Booth looked at Angela who was nearby, working on her portable notepad. Without looking up, she scrunched her face into an amused smile and shook her head.

"I'll leave them on your chair."

"Okay," Brennan replied distractedly.

Booth wondered if she'd actually registered what he'd said. "I'll just be heading back to the Alamo now on my trusty steed."

"Right."

"I'll pick up a few pieces of apple pie for you too, alright?"

"Sure."

"And I'll let your editor know that you want me included on the list of people to read your next manuscript before it's published."

She looked over her nose at the task in front of her and tilted her head. "That would be inadvisable if you'd like continued use of both eyes."

Booth chuckled and strolled from the platform.

* * *

He'd just pulled into the parking lot at the diner when his phone rang.

"Booth."

"Agent Columbo just telephoned for you. He asked for you to give him a call."

"You could have given him my number, Charlie."

"I tried, but he said he was driving and wasn't able to write it down."

"Alright. You want to give me his number? I don't have it on me." Booth reached into his jacket pocket for an index card and his floaty pen. He scribbled. "Got it. Thanks, Charlie."

He hung up and dialed. It was only one ring before he heard the rumble and hush of a moving vehicle.

"Columbo," the high voice wheezed.

"Hey, Art."

"Oh, Booth. Good, I'm glad Charlie got a hold of you."

"You're in the car?"

"I'm on my way to the airport. Now that I'm pretty much recovered, I'm taking a vacation. Cullen insisted."

"Nice. Where you headed?"

"Fiji."

"You'll have to send me a postcard."

"Sure thing."

All of a sudden it occurred to Booth just how long it had been since he had gone on holiday. He'd taken some sick time recently, but lying in a hospital room could hardly be considered a vacation. He wondered if he and Bones could wrangle getting vacation time together without looking too conspicuous.

He was brought out of his thoughts by Columbo's voice. "Look, Booth, the reason I called is that I think I remembered something Duncan said on the phone."

"That's great, Art. Did you call Rossi?"

"I tried, but she wasn't in her office and I couldn't get a hold of her." The car noise on the other end of the phone line diminished for a stop light and Columbo continued, "And it's pretty urgent if I'm right."

Booth waited for him to continue.

"I'm not completely sure, mind you, it's all still pretty hazy, but I think Duncan mentioned something on the phone about a meeting the morning of the 26th."

"Which is today."

"And the morning is almost over. I mean, I could have heard it wrong, and even if I didn't the guy might not have showed or could have split already. But I was wondering..."

"Did Duncan say where?"

"An old warehouse, and I think I know the one he was talking about."

"Helps to have lived here all your life, eh?" Columbo gave Booth the address and hung up.

He looked at the card. Call Bones? He'd just been at the lab and she said she'd been too busy to take a break from what she was doing. Plus the morning was very quickly ticking away. If this accomplice was still there, he might not be for long. Booth put the truck into drive and pulled out of the parking lot. He'd call her on the way to let her know what was up.

Speed dial one. BONES flashed across the phone's face, but it beeped at him. He looked at his phone, puzzled. The call had cut off. He tried again. Same results.

Damn reception. What a time for a cell tower to go down.

She'd be furious with him, but Booth decided he could check it out on his own.

* * *

The musty smell of rust and long-dead mold permeated the place. It seemed like not a soul had been in this building for years. Still air rippled at his intrusion as Booth moved away from the loading dock and through a large open space. Huge concrete pillars held the ceiling high and a rickety walkway traversed the room, high above the ground. Empty as the place felt, a number of wooden crates stood stacked near the back wall where Booth was just able to make out a windowless hallway.

He crept forward, gun between his hands and pointed at the floor. His ears prickled when he thought he heard a distant whirring from the end of the room and he willed his shoes to speak quietly as he made his way toward the hall.

Booth switched on the flashlight he had attached to his gun when he reached the end of the room. He looked at the crates briefly. They didn't appear to have the same amount of dust as the surrounding pipes, but they were shut securely. Damn. He wouldn't be able to check their contents without difficulty, and Booth needed to make certain he was really alone before putting away his gun.

His footsteps weren't completely silent in the hallway, and they made a dull echo as though his soft scuffle was resonating through large pipes nearby. Suddenly, behind him, a louder second set of footsteps moved quickly in his direction.

Booth spun, gun aimed at chest height. The footsteps stopped. After a split second, surprise crossed his face.

"What are _you_ doing here?"

* * *

_thank you so much to my reviewers once again. big hugs and smooches for each and every one of you._

_so who do YOU think booth's just encountered? bones? sully? barack obama? tell me, i'm curious. i love speculating on other peoples' stories and i love it when people speculate on mine. oh, and there's just nothing like morning sex, is there? anyone enjoy that lil scene?_

_click the button! leave some love (i'll once again mention that 'love' can refer to both praise and critique. gimme whatcha got!) and i'll write the next chapter quicker!_


	23. Missing

_many apologies for the doubly long delay between last chapter and this one, but i've been having some health issues, and real life unfortunately tends to take precedence._

_i don't know what happened with alerts on ff.n there last time i posted, but I hope everyone got to read (& review, hint hint) chapter 22. we're going to have a whole lot of information flowing in this chapter, and there's this oddly convenient recap in the last chapter. curious how that popped up. make good use of it. :)_

* * *

Brennan flipped a folder shut, picked up another, and yawned.

"I've finished my sketch. No hits on any of our databases," Angela said as she walked in the room and passed a sketch of the victim to Brennan. "Since he appears to be of exclusively asian heritage, I've requested some international help, but it will probably be a few hours before I hear back." She noted her friend's yawn. "Tired?"

"I was, uh... exercising pretty late."

Angela smiled conspiratorially at her fresh complexion. "I love exercising late. Helps me work out my, uh, frustrations."

Brennan smiled back. "Yes, I had several frustrations. And, well," she admitted, "I worked out early this morning too."

"Well I would expect nothing less from someone in your situation. I mean, your workout buddy must be very proficient with the regimen."

"Yes, with his physique, I imagine Agent Booth would be quite successful at sexual endeavors."

The two women stopped and stared at Zack.

He didn't look away from his x-rays. "You two are not quite as subtle as you think. And I have been studying body language."

Brennan felt a momentary surge of pride for her protege's perceptiveness before the accompanying fear took over. Before the question could reach her lips, Angela had asked it.

"Does Cam know, Zack?"

"Not to my knowledge."

"Would you please keep this information to yourself?" Brennan requested.

"Certainly." He straightened and looked away from the x-rays finally. "I've found an anomaly on C-5 that I'd like you to take a look at, Dr. Brennan."

She stepped to the light box.

* * *

After a long lunch with Angela, where many more details of her recent sexual escapades than she planned escaped her voicebox, Brennan returned to the lab and made her way to the platform. She picked up the file folder Booth had dropped off earlier and flipped through. Her eyes alighted on the arrest warrant for Robert Duncan. She looked at the broad and rough face in his mugshot, the crooked nose, the tawny scruff that covered his head and lower face, and she pondered the washy expression. His face was uncomfortable to look upon. _Probably because he tried to kill you,_ she thought.

"I hear you have some mold for me." Hodgins approached carrying a tray and set it down on the table at the side of the platform.

"Yes, we've found some in a small fracture in the C-5 vertebra." Brennan laid down the file and moved to the remains to locate the bone in question.

"Who's this?" Hodgins eyed the mugshot looking up from the table.

"Who's who?" Brennan turned. "Oh, that's the man who poisoned Columbo."

Hodgins' brow furrowed. His mind whirred for a moment and shot into overdrive. "Wait a minute, wait a minute... _this_ is Duncan?" He picked up the file and looked over his information.

"Yes."

He flipped the page over. "I don't suppose anything here mentions his shoe size, does it?"

"I doubt it," Brennan replied, puzzled. "Why?"

Hodgins held up the photo of the tall, stocky man. "How many 6-foot-3-inch _linebackers_ do you know who wear a size 7 shoe?"

Before she was able to reply, Hodgins had dropped the file back to the tabletop and rushed from the platform. A minute later, the storage room door slammed open unceremoniously and had barely swung shut again before Hodgins was returning to his workstation with a large box. He located a knife and sliced through the seal as quickly as he dared. Inside, an assortment of clothing items and other objects lay calmly waiting.

"Ah, Booth sent us everything. Good man." He rummaged and finally found what he was looking for. "Dr. Brennan!" he hollered in the direction of the main platform.

"What is it, Jack?" She came to the edge.

"This," he held up a bag holding a large shoe, "is Duncan's shoe. This is a size 14." He put the shoe down and looked at her seriously. "The footprint was made by a size 7 shoe... 8, tops. Duncan _couldn't_ have been the person who made that print."

Brennan's heart skipped a beat. "Good work, Hodgins. I'll call Booth. See what else you can find out."

Hodgins nodded and began sorting through the contents of the box while Brennan ran to her office and dialed Booth's office number. No answer.

Dialing his cell sent her straight to voicemail. That was odd. He typically picked up when he saw her number on caller ID, even if it was to tell her he'd call her back, and he never _ever_ turned his phone off. She tried again and got the same response.

She put down the phone and stared across the room, mind moving a mile a minute.

"Everything alright, Dr. Brennan?" Cam peeked her head into the room.

"I can't get a hold of Booth."

"Well I'm sure he'll be by eventually. Aren't you two lovebirds having dinner or something?"

Brennan looked at her with mingling shock and unease.

"What? You thought I didn't know? When it comes to information, the CIA has _nothing_ on this place."

"I don't know what you're talking about, we're just partners." _You're clearly an accomplished liar, aren't you?_ she thought sardonically.

"Oh, please. That man is completely taken with you. He's loyal as a rule, but when it comes to you?" She shook her head. "Never wavers. And I haven't seen him so concerned with what someone thought about him. Come to think of it, I've never seen him care at _all_ about what anyone thought about him." She paused and bobbed her head sideways, admitting, "...Okay, and James in archaeology saw you two kissing this morning."

Brennan calmed a bit at the lack of a negative reaction from Cam. "So... you don't have a problem with a us being in a relationship?"

"I thought you were the one who had issues with workplace romance."

"Yes, well after much debate, we've decided that the potential outweighs the risks."

Cam nodded. "Clearly _I _ don't have a problem dating someone I work with, and I will not be hypocritical."

"Thank you."

"So long as it doesn't negatively effect your work, of course," she added.

"Of course."

Brennan paused and shifted feet awkwardly. _Best to be blunt, you're good at that._ "Will your personal history with Booth be an issue?"

Cam smiled. "No, Dr. Brennan, I'm not holding onto some deluded hope that Seeley will come running back to me. And it was really never _that_ serious to begin with." She looked toward the ceiling with a reminiscing smile. "Mostly just really hot sex. I mean, he used to..." she stopped herself very suddenly and the two women looked at each other.

"Um, well... you know." She nodded her head absently. "You know, I assume?" she said conversationally, realizing only after it had left her mouth that it that it was absolutely none of her business.

"Yes," Brennan replied with a faint smile.

A brief pause hung in the air before the New York bravado finally reinstated itself over the awkwardness, "Well, good. Seeley gets cranky when he's not getting laid. It'll make things more pleasant for all of us. Did you try the diner?"

"What?" _Wait, what??_ No, it was a different restaurant's parking lot they'd defiled. Brennan wondered in horror whether Cam was trying to give her sex tips.

"Wasn't Booth in here a while ago going on about pie?"

Comprehension dawned quickly. "Yes, he was." She grabbed for the phone and dialed information, holding the receiver to her ear while she waited to be connected. "Hodgins found that Duncan's shoes are too big to make the footprint in Booth's apartment."

Dr. Saroyan's eyebrows shot to the ceiling. "So the bastard who poisoned you two is still on the loose."

Brennan nodded. She spoke with Vera at the diner briefly and hung up. "And I can't find my partner."

* * *

"Sorry, Dr. Brennan, I haven't seen agent Booth since about 10:30 this morning."

"Well, do you know where he went, Charlie?"

"I thought he said he was going to see you and take a coffee break."

"He was here, but only for a few minutes. That was almost four hours ago."

Brennan heard the murmur of the FBI office, the ring of phones while Charlie paused. "You know, not long after he left, I put him in touch with Agent Columbo. Maybe he'd have an idea where he is."

Brennan punched the digits directly into her cell as the young agent gave them to her. She paced her office and heard Columbo's cell phone ring five times and go to voicemail. She left a message and pushed end call.

Brennan made her way back onto the floor and over toward Hodgins' work station. He informed her that he was running samples through the mass spectrometer and that he'd let her know when they were done.

She felt restless. She hated feeling restless. Time to call the Big Dogs. She returned to her office and flipped through her rolodex.

* * *

"It's only been a few hours, Dr. Brennan. Perhaps he's just out of cell range," Cullen suggested with an air of forced patience.

"Don't you have redundant network coverage for exactly that eventuality?"

"Look, I'll check and see if there are any problems with the towers. But we can't mobilize a task force to locate an agent who could very well just be taking a long lunch. I'm sorry." He paused, "Who's the last person to be in contact with him?"

"Agent Burns said that he put him in touch with Agent Columbo at around 11:00."

Cullen made a long, pensive sound. "Well, it might be difficult to get a hold of Art. He left on vacation this morning. Probably on a plane right now."

"Yes, I tried him and got voicemail."

"Tell me, Dr. Brennan, what is so crucial that you need to find Booth right now anyway?"

"We've just uncovered evidence that suggests that Robert Duncan was not responsible for our poisoning. And now Agent Booth is missing. That can't be coincidence."

"Actually, it could be just that. Protocol is for agents to check in every 6 hours when they are in the field. If we haven't heard from him within two hours, I will personally oversee a search. In the meantime, relax. Try not to jump to any conclusions."

It was perfectly rational advice. She had no evidence that Booth was in danger. All the same the situation was causing her stomach to twist painfully. The anthropologist rolled her eyes when she realized that she was listening to her gut.

But she was looking for Booth, and she figured he would approve.

* * *

"What do you have, Hodgins?" Brennan approached his station and noted the fact that most of her team was nearby, at least pretending to be hard at work, but well within earshot.

"Samples are still running to get a complete chemical composition on some particulates I didn't have before. What the hell kind of sampling protocol does the FBI lab have? Why didn't they send us all of this to begin with?" he snapped at no one in particular.

"Jack," Brennan brought him back.

"Introductory analysis indicates that we have an exact match between particulates in the print and in evidence."

"But you said Duncan's shoe doesn't match the footprint."

"No, it doesn't. It has similar elements, some fairly rare combinations that bear similarities to those in the print. It doesn't have nearly enough corresponding criteria to be considered a match though." He held up a loafer and spoke seriously, "But this one does. Size, treads, particulates."

"Whose shoe is that?"

"Columbo's."

Breath escaped unbidden from Brennan's lungs.

"He was the one in Booth's apartment. Agent Columbo was the one who poisoned you."

"But why?" Angela asked, abandoning her post and approaching.

"I have no idea," Brennan said quietly. Her mind blinked to a familiar face, warm sepia eyes. "That's Booth's area." And the feeling of panic reasserted itself. "I need more, Hodgins. I need to know where Columbo was. You said something before about a factory."

"I'm on it."

Brennan walked with purpose back to her office, but upon arriving there she found herself at a loss. She paced the carpet uneasily. What could she do? She didn't know many people at the FBI, fewer she could call on for a speculative favor, and she knew she needed help; her head was already starting to throb. The police wouldn't do anything without him being missing for 48 hours and would probably point her back to the FBI anyway.

She froze in her tracks. An idea had formed. She didn't like it, but could think of no other options. Brennan dug through her desk drawer in a frenzy, finally pulling out a small rectangle with angular writing on the back; the business card she'd had a strong urge to tear up, to burn, to throw into the shredder.

* * *

"Rossi," chimed the low, rich voice.

"Agent Rossi. Hello. It's Dr. Brennan."

"What can I do for you?" Her voice had switched to steely already.

"I'm trying to... I think Booth is missing. I can't get a hold of him and no one has seen him for hours. It's very unlike him to be out of contact for so long and I'm... I'm worried."

Rossi was silent for a few moments. "How long has it been since you've heard from him?"

"He left here about four hours ago after dropping off the paperwork you gave him. Charlie says no one at the office has seen him, he never made it to where he said he was going, but Cullen says that it's too soon to go out looking for him."

"Protocol is six..."

"Yes, I know about protocol!" Brennan snapped. Quickly, she stopped her breath and decided that yelling at the one person who might be able to help her, who already didn't like her wasn't the best plan. "I'm sorry, I just have a bad feeling about it. We have been looking over all of the evidence here and it's fairly plain that Duncan was not the person who poisoned us."

"What do you mean?"

Rossi didn't say a thing while Brennan laid out Hodgins' findings for her. More than once, Brennan wondered if she was still on the line, but then she heard distant office voices or the scratch of a pencil and continued.

When she finished, Rossi was silent for so long that Brennan was certain she had hung up. She finally spoke, "And you say that he was in contact with Agent Columbo before he went missing."

"Yes," Brennan breathed. She willed her heart to beat at a normal speed. She willed her brain to stop screaming at her to _do_ something.

"I will come pick you up. _Stay where you are," _she said slowly, as though speaking to a child.

Through her thinly veiled panic, Brennan managed to be a bit taken aback by her tone. "Why do you say it like that?"

"Because I have heard of your tendency to run after suspects into dark tunnels. And I will not have Seeley blaming me for something happening to you."

"I'm perfectly capable of taking care of myself." _Not right now you aren't, Brennan. Not so soon after having brain surgery._ "And that man wasn't a criminal, he was..."

"_Stay put," _Rossi cut her off. "I will be there in 15 minutes."

* * *

"So if Columbo was the one who poisoned you, we were right about the arsenic being planted at Duncan's place," Zack said.

"But wrong about who did it," Brennan replied.

Hodgins began to speak animatedly, "After he's attacked, Rossi keeps Columbo in the loop on the investigation as a professional courtesy, and he figures it's the perfect opportunity to pin your poisoning on the guy who tried to do him in."

"Wasn't Columbo in the hospital when they searched Duncan's home?" Angela asked.

Brennan thought back. "No, he was released the night before."

"Just in time to go break into Duncan's place and plant the poison, and then try to run you over," Hodgins said. "I knew that car wasn't an accident."

"This is speculation," Zack piped in nervously.

"Booth's missing, Zack," Cam replied. "We're, what does he call it, 'positing a scenario.' We've got to find him before Columbo does."

"If he hasn't already," Brennan said, shifting nervously. "Charlie Burns at the FBI says that he put Booth in touch with Columbo several hours ago."

"Don't they record conversations in that building? You know Big Brother's gotta be watching their own."

Brennan raised an eyebrow at him. She was willing to put up with conjecture right now, but he was pushing it. "They were both out, using their cell phones."

"So what do we do?" Angela, to her credit, appeared to be controlling her panic well.

"Agent Rossi is on her way over here. We need to know where Columbo's been, what else you can pull from his shoes, Hodgins."

"Of course." He squared his shoulders and turned back to his workstation.

"Booth is..." Angela reached for the right words, "well, he's a force to be reckoned with. Could that little old agent be a real threat?"

Brennan thought back to the evening Booth had spent working at her coffee table, and talking about Columbo and the sting that Booth had found so impressive. "He doesn't look like much, but I seem to recall that he has awards in several types of martial arts."

"From back in the day, though, right?" Angela said.

Brennan's brow furrowed and she turned to search through a pile of paperwork on the side table. A chill stole through her. "As recently as last year."

* * *

_Three hours earlier:_

Booth looked into the face that stared back at him in the beam of his gun's flashlight. He lowered his weapon. "Art? What are you doing here?"

"I decided that I just had to see for myself if there was someone else pulling the strings." His high voice barely echoed in the hallway. "Being poisoned makes me a bit ornery. And I have a few hours before my flight leaves."

Booth took a deep breath and tried to calm his pounding heart. "I wish you'd have let me know you were coming."

"I tried to call you back, but it kept going to voicemail."

"Yeah, it seems I'm having problems with reception today."

Now that he had backup, Booth led them to the high-ceilinged room so he could take a look in the crates. He holstered his firearm and Columbo pulled his out, angling it back in the direction of the hallway. A search around the boxes eventually turned up a crowbar and Booth moved to pry open a lid.

A satisfying crack echoed about the space when Booth forced the crowbar down, uprooting the nails. "It's funny, I've driven past here so many times. Bones lives just..."

He had only just a glimpse of what was inside when he felt a pain shoot through the back of his head. Then there was nothing.

* * *

_my reviewers are wonderful and amazing and i love each one to death._

_surely you want to review. :)_


	24. Whereabouts

_for any of you smut-mongers who didn't notice: I posted a second chapter of the nothin-but-hot-lovin "Cuffs Aren't So Bad," in which turnabout is fair play and brennan winds up on the other side of the handcuff scenario. go take a gander._

_i'm on vacation right now, and i'll be doing a little travelling in the next couple weeks, but I should have internet access most of the time, so I am planning on working on the next chapter and hopefully getting it up for you in roughly the regular timeframe. (about a week) reviews always help with my motivation. :D_

_i heart my reviewers!!_

* * *

The first thing to register in his field of vision was the dusty, broken bulb of a hanging industrial lamp. Then weathered copper pipes bound together and running the length of the room. Dirty cement ceiling. No, not cement... concrete. She would have corrected him if she were there.

He would have chastised her for pointing out something so hopelessly unimportant in that moment. But she wasn't there.

The air was thick and breathing difficult. It was disorienting having his mind slow to catch up when his body had clearly been subjected to the heat for some length of time. Long enough to drench him in sweat.

Of course, he gasped as he made to sit up, that disorientation could also be due to your throbbing head. Feeling the back of his skull gingerly, he discovered a bump. No blood. _Well, that's something, Seel. You're not bleeding._

Way to be optimistic. You're probably also dehydrated.

The room he was struggling to sit in wasn't large. It bore the same signs of neglect as the ceiling above him. Rusty pipes ran along the walls, connecting some unknown external machinery to a large boiler on a raised platform. It burbled at him steadily.

Okay, Booth. Context. Where are you?

He recalled that he'd been at a warehouse. It was probable that he was still there given the setting, and he had a suspicion that the boiler's noise was the sound he'd heard when creeping up on the hallway.

Now what happened?

He'd been... he'd been checking out some crates with Columbo covering him. The watch still strapped to his wrist indicated that he'd been unconscious for about twenty minutes.

He'd obviously been knocked out by a blow to the back of the head. But he remembered no approaching feet, no whooshing sound of a projectile making its way toward his head.

Booth blinked.

_That bastard. I went to his kid's bar mitzvah._

He checked his pockets and holsters. No phone, no gun. Dammit.

Hauling himself waveringly to his feet, he made his way to the door. It wouldn't budge. _Did you honestly expect it to, Seel?_

What happened to that optimistic streak? he wondered. He examined the door and threw his shoulder into it, but it was heavy and metal and unmoved by his plight.

He blinked back spots from his eyes. _This is not good._

A second inspection of the room revealed a ventilation shaft on the ceiling behind the boiler. Booth stripped off his suit coat and blue shirt, placing them over the hot pipes and pulling himself up as high as he could. He pushed, pulled, shook at the grate but it would not budge. It was firmly rusted in place.

More disturbing, he realized, was the lack of airflow. He was locked in an unventilated room with an active boiler. And his exertions were beginning to recall the spots before his eyes more vividly.

He lowered himself carefully and sat against the wall for a minute until the his head's spinning slowed. _This is definitely not good._

Booth counted five drops of sweat make their way from his forehead down to his undershirt and then stood again to check out the boiler. Little presented itself by way of controls. A gauge had been smashed and the needle now stood frozen at 115 degrees Fahrenheit. He wiped his forehead; it felt hotter than that. Nearby, what looked like the manual override valve had rusted in place. He grasped with both hands and tried to turn it, but it was stubborn and wouldn't budge.

Spectacular. And you just had to run in without backup and without informing anyone where you were going.

Booth had trained in heat tolerance, having spent so much time in the Middle East. But there had always been a 2- to 4-week period of climate adaptation before going out on patrols. His body would have time to become acclimatized to the heat. He was well trained to recognize the signs and symptoms of heat exhaustion and heat stroke, and even better trained in how to avoid them both. But a big part of the training was preparation: having plenty of water on hand, or at least tools to locate and distill ground water.

Here, in DC with no preparatory training, his body's water needs were far less than in the Middle East in the dead of summer. His body's water needs were also less than what he needed for being abandoned in an unventilated boiler room with no supplies.

This would be such a shitty place to die, he thought as he looked around. Booth murmured a quiet prayer and began to wrack his brain.

* * *

The interior of Rossi's car was nearly identical to Booth's. It made sense. Most FBI-issued vehicles would be the same make and model. But Brennan suspected there was no safety seat stowed in the trunk, no dramamine in the glove box for a six-year-old's car sickness, no rosary.

No obnoxious spare tie.

By the time Rossi had sauntered quickly into the lab, Hodgins had just called Brennan over to disclose the results from the mass spec.

He'd pointed out the same elevated concentrations of silica, alumina, and sodium sulfate from Duncan's shoes, along with soda, lime, and magnesium oxide. The combination, he'd said, suggested soda-lime glass, used in the manufacture of glass containers and windows.

A number of glass factories had come up in his search. But when he'd mentioned pollen from dandelions and _Hovenia-dulcis_, the Japanese raisin-tree, and had pulled up a picture, an image had sprung unbidden to her mind.

A memory about a month old. Booth's face, frustrated and arguing (over what she couldn't remember) as they walked by the front of an abandoned building near her home. His face was framed in the background by the same small white blossoms, and behind where she stood, she knew, was an old, overgrown field.

She had checked his list of factories and praised Hodgins' good work before grabbing Rossi's arm and running from the lab.

_Please let this be the right place,_ she begged to the ether. It was 3:23. No one had seen Booth in nearly five hours. _Please let him be alright._

The blocks flew by painfully slowly. Brennan told herself that it was an illusion caused by her focus on the time, and because she knew exactly how far they were from their destination. She could count the number of stop lights, the number of difficult left turns before they would arrive. Rossi, to Brennan's great relief, at least had informed the bureau where they were headed and flipped the switch on her dash. They drove in relative silence while the lights flashed, traffic yielded, and the siren wailed ominously.

Before they'd even stopped, Brennan spoke, pointing, "There's Booth's car." It sat quietly with the passenger's side facing them.

"How do you know that?" Rossi switched off the lights, having silenced the siren a few blocks back. "You can't see the license plates from this angle."

Brennan released her seatbelt. "See that rippling in the passenger-side door? That's from a shoddy repair job on damage from a car chase." Booth had beaten himself up over it when the car had swirved and it had been her side to hit something, even though she hadn't received any major injuries. "Oh, and see that smudge on the rear door? That was made my his son." Brennan's heart began beating even faster when she considered the tow-headed boy and that his father might now be... her breath caught. _In danger, _ she reminded herself. There was no evidence of anything worse. She would not let herself feel dread.

All the same, she wrenched the door open with more than the necessary force.

Rossi climbed from the car and moved with the anthropologist toward the loading dock. "Seeley has a son?"

Brennan was slightly surprised that she didn't know. "Yes, Parker, he's six."

"It was only about seven years ago that I knew him. He certainly didn't waste any time."

Brennan knew that he and Rebecca had been together in college and broke up when he went into the military. It was only when he'd been stationed here in DC that they'd reconnected. Brennan didn't feel like giving her more information and Rossi didn't ask for it as they drew their guns and entered the building.

* * *

Further inspection of his prison had revealed a two-foot length of pipe. Finally, a stroke of luck. He could maneuver it as a lever and try again to turn the boiler off.

Booth laced it through the spokes of the valve and braced against a pipe below. He pushed. No dice. He moved round to the other side, feeling slightly woozy and began pulling on the pipe again, feeling a slight movement and a corresponding increase in the sound coming from the boiler next to him.

Okay, wrong way. Booth repositioned the pipe and moved around again to pull on it in the other direction. It groaned, shifted slightly. The boiler maintained its growl. He ignored the pain and pulled harder.

With a loud crack, the heavy wheel gave way and throttled his chest, knocking him off his balance. He dropped the pipe and stumbled backwards until a wall abruptly blocked his progress.

Breath wasn't easy returning to him and the spots had returned in full force. He let himself slide to the floor, rubbing his chest and kicking the offending metal ring away from him in irritation.

_Great._

His vision began to tunnel. Darkness surrounded the edges and began invading inwards.

_No, Booth. You've gotta stay awake._

He took slow, deep breaths and willed it back. Dizzy black continued to block his peripheral, but he held it at bay.

The watch strapped to his wrist read nearly 2 o'clock. He'd left at... he thought back... 10:30 this morning. Two and a half hours before anyone would even think about trying to locate him. He had to stay awake. Normally he would do situps, pushups, jumping jacks to keep himself alert. But injured and so clearly dehydrated already, that wasn't an option.

_Stay awake. Think of something stimulating._

At the mention of the word, as thought they were innately linked, his mind conjured up images of his partner. She was probably in the lab right then. Clad in the traditional blue coat, leaning over remains on the platform, and providing the lucky Zack Addy with an impressive view from the v-neck shirt she'd been wearing.

He thought about the curves that were hidden by the stiff blue fabric. The curves he'd traced with his hands when they woke up that morning. His mind flashed an image of her writhing beneath him, the feel of her pulling him down to her, pressed against him and breathing hotly in his ear while grabbing at him with all of her form.

He saw her face at his hips in her kitchen, drawing him into her mouth so enthusiastically. Heard her moan.

Booth tried for another deep breath, but the heat was all-consuming. It swallowed his lungs in its humidity and made each breath feel like no new breath at all.

_Stay awake, Booth._

* * *

The large room felt muggy and warm as soon as the two women entered. Their footsteps seemed to echo soft and long off the high ceiling as Rossi led them to a hallway along the nearest wall. Brennan scanned the rest of the large room and spied another hallway at the other end of the room with boxes stacked to the side. In such a large, empty space, Brennan found their existence curious and wanted to go check them, but she swallowed her curiosity and followed Rossi. This was first and foremost about finding Booth.

Occasional windows and flickering light fixtures illuminated the halls as they twisted and turned in a meandering maze. They tested doors when they came upon them. Some were offices, some large rooms with heavy, rusting machinery. All appeared to be unlocked, but none revealed anything of interest.

The buzz of the overhead lights mixed with her pounding heart to fill her ears, but above the din Brennan thought she heard a low grumble coming from someplace deep within the building. A threat of life in a place that was supposed to be long obsolete.

Rossi's high platform shoes somehow remained silent as she stalked down the hall, gun at the ready. Brennan occasionally held back to check rooms a bit more thoroughly, never with any meaningful outcome, and always coming back out in time to catch up with the agent before she rounded a corner and signaled to follow.

A T-junction that they approached caused the pounding in Brennan's chest to increase. Rossi peeked round the corner and abandoned the new offshoot, continuing and signaling forward without looking back. Brennan intended to pass the new hallway, but when she had a view, she paused. It was long and dark and appeared to lead back to the large room. A sudden insatiable curiosity about the crates urged her to pull out her own flashlight and follow the new path.

She could see pipes running in parallel down the unlit tunnel as she walked. They ran the length of the walls, and along the ceiling. The low whirring sound she'd heard before seemed to resonate in the pipes, which stank of old metal too long neglected.

No doors appeared along the sides of the corridor and she made it back to the main room without incident.

She approached the boxes cautiously. Dust on the floor betrayed recent movement. Footsteps, crates being moved, something large being dragged to or away from the scene.

How recent?

She crouched down. Quite recent. Today maybe.

Had Booth been here?

Brennan shifted and the end of a tool came into her field of vision around the edge of one of the boxes.

She grabbed the crowbar and worked at the nearest crate. The heat was beginning to make her sweat and she had to wipe her hands a few times to keep her grip. When the lid was finally thrown back, the crowbar fell to the floor with a loud clatter and she peered inside.

She recognized green blocks of C-4, orange Semtex... was that dynamite? She thought she saw a few crystals on the outside of the nearest stick.

Not good. Lots of explosives. Old dynamite, sweating its nitroglycerine. This was not someplace they wanted to be.

She moved away from the boxes, noticing behind them a flight of stairs than she had missed before, leading up to the catwalk that stretched the length of the room. The metal made clinking sounds beneath her feet. She moved slowly to minimize it. At the top, an office door remained stubbornly locked. Peering in the glass window of the door showed a desk with a phone and a lot of paperwork, lit by a desk lamp. This was not a long-abandoned office. Someone had been here recently.

Perhaps she should call Rossi and find out where she was. Brennan pulled out her phone and frowned at it. Its face displayed a spinning radar dish and the words _Searching for Network._ She moved along the catwalk, holding the phone high and watching its face. Finally it blinked its welcome screen and she pushed redial.

The number to which her phone was attempting to connect looked unfamiliar. She tried to imagine the digits scrawled in Rossi's tilted hand. It didn't seem right. But Rossi had been the last one she called, she insisted.

No, you called Rossi from your ground line. Who'd been the last person she called on her cell? Cullen? He might give her Rossi's number.

No, you called him from your office phone as well. Her mind struggled and finally remembered Charlie dictating digits to her as she entered them into her cell.

_Columbo._

From right behind her, a phone chirped.

* * *

_i know, I know... i'm evil. how's the tension working for you? feeling it? reviews will make me write the next chapter faster, so click the button._


	25. Confrontation

_good news for those of you who don't like cliffhangers: this chapter is the end of our 4-chapter action-packed climax. no more insane cliffies. _

_bad news for those of you who like 4-chapter action-packed climaxes: this is it. we cool down a bit after this. denouement and revelation to follow. (and smuff, of course)  
_

_now, back to the cliff's edge!_

* * *

Before she had time to react, a dull pain engulfed the side of her head and she fell to her knees, phone skittering away from her across the catwalk.

The low whir that the factory was producing fused with the rush of blood in her ears. It was nearly deafening, but she still heard him speak. "How has your recovery been, Dr. Brennan? I hear you had brain surgery," his nasal voice croaked. "It's really too bad you came."

The voice was edgy and she was cautious. It would be naive to assume that he was unarmed. "I'm going to need for you to slide your weapon over nice and slowly." She pulled herself away from her attacker before raising her hands and turning to look at him. Columbo stood motionless before her in a wrinkled and dirty suit. A Glock was trained on her in his gloved hand.

She spoke with as much confidence as she could muster. "You won't shoot me. You know that the Jeffersonian will track the bullet back to your gun."

His mouth twitched. "Well, you're part right. I couldn't shoot you with my own gun, Dr. Brennan. This, however," his hand gripped the gun more tightly, "is registered to your partner."

At the mention of him, her caution snapped. "Where's Booth?" she spat.

He plunged his other hand into his pocket and pulled out a heavy lighter. He flicked it open and held it, unlit, over the edge of the walkway. Brennan glanced down and realized that he was standing 30 feet directly over the crate of explosives she had opened.

Logic told her that any flame he lit would most likely go out before it hit the explosives, but in such an unstable state, there was no saying that the impact or a resulting spark wouldn't set them off. All the same, Brennan didn't want to admit defeat. "Are you certain the explosion would reach us up here?"

His finger moved only just enough to click a flame into existence and he spoke coldly, "The concussion alone would certainly kill Agent Booth, so let's try this again: Slide your gun to me, nice and slowly."

Brennan's heart and mouth stopped. She moved, carefully and deliberately, to retrieve her gun and push it across toward him. Metal slid across metal in a dull ringing skid.

"The FBI knows that you were the one who poisoned us," she prompted.

Columbo said nothing, but returned the lighter to his pocket and pulled out a pair of handcuffs, presumably Booth's as well. He crouched low and slid them in her direction, gesturing to the side railing.

Before he had a chance to direct her otherwise, Brennan slapped one cuff on one of the bars and the other on her left wrist, looking an am-I-doing-this-right question at him. Hopefully she looked as innocent as she was trying for. Having one hand free was far preferable to none.

She also knew that if these truly were Booth's handcuffs, she had a spare key in her back pocket. But as long as he was staring at her, she could do nothing about it.

Columbo had clearly not planned on her appearance there, and seemed to be considering the situation. As he stood, Brennan noted just how different he looked from the last time she'd seen him. Then he'd seemed small, frail, an old man whose strength had passed from him. But there in the factory with such an impenetrable look in his eyes, he seemed more like a rapier primed for battle. All pretense of decay had fallen away.

The heat hung oppressively and she tested the restraints. Finally he seemed to have made a decision and moved toward her.

_Oh, God. Fight, Brennan. Do something._

She still had her right hand free, but she didn't have quite the range of motion to get in a good swing. Could she maneuver enough body momentum for an effective kick? When he stepped within reach, she decided that the time to try was now or never.

She shifted her weight back on her free arm and let her foot spring at him.

He sprang faster.

Columbo stepped forward and swung a fist in retribution. It connected with the injured side of her head, and she saw stars.

Her cranium was screaming at her; a banshee-like shriek. Some small part of her brain poked through the pain and cried that her free hand was resting just inches away from the key to the handcuffs. As subtly as she could manage, and under the pretense of bending and moaning at the new source of agony, she slipped the key into her palm.

Brennan looked up at his now blurry image. It faded in and out of focus and she saw him approaching her again angrily, lighter back out of his pocket and over the edge. Her head swam. There was no way she could unlock herself before he struck again, and she was certain that one more blow could easily render her unconscious.

She had to try. The tiny key seemed stubborn when it came to doing its job. Once, twice, three times it missed the lock. The _fourth _ time, it seemed, was the charm. She would have to correct Booth when she found him.

She looked into the barrel of the gun aimed right at her face.

If she lived to find him.

Suddenly, his knees buckled and he crumpled into a heap. Both hands released their captives, Booth's gun fell at her feet and the lighter slipped from his grasp beyond the railing.

_No._

A blur of red flung itself over the edge, arms stretching far out in either direction. One caught the lighter, the other hurled itself around a bar, and Rossi dangled precariously high above the ground.

Rossi secured her grasp and reached to her belt with the unattached hand. She yelled, "Brennan, cuff him!"

Brennan quickly released herself from her restraints and moved to where Rossi was suspended, all the while eyeing the unconscious Columbo warily. "Let me help you up. You could fall."

She slammed her cuffs and the lighter up on the walkway. "Cuff him! Before he comes around!"

Brennan complied, pulling the man's arms behind his back and securing him. By the time the restraints were in place, Rossi had pulled herself halfway up and Brennan helped her the rest of the way.

When Rossi finally made it back onto the catwalk, she exhaled firmly. Time slowed to normal. Rossi's large brown eyes glared and she asked animatedly, "Are you okay?"

"Yes, I think so."

"What the hell are you doing, going off without me?" she snapped.

"I'm not completely helpless."

Rossi raised her eyebrows and gestured at the cuffed and unconscious Columbo.

"I'm not!" Brennan was getting irritated at how petulant her own voice sounded. _Are you really so petty as to be angry at the woman for saving your life? Twice?_

Rossi picked up the lighter and handed it to her, then moved to check Columbo's pockets. "You have a head injury, Doctor Brennan." She handed over a box of matches.

"I am aware of that, Agent Rossi." She could hardly ignore it. The adrenaline had begun to recede and Brennan's head was full of a stabbing pain.

The agent kept her eyes trained on her unconscious collar. She retrieved a flint from his coat pocket and handed it to Brennan. "Which is bleeding."

Brennan touched her head, felt warm wetness in her hair. _Dammit_.

Rossi retrieved Brennan's gun from Columbo and passed it to her, then pocketed his own. "What the hell?" Rossi held up another lighter. "Is this man trying to set himself on fire?"

Brennan took the lighter from Rossi's extended arm. "I suppose it's an occupational hazard of working with explosives."

"No," she scoffed, "it is _hazardous _ for someone working with explosives. I would expect that he would keep these kinds of materials far away from that." She bobbed her head toward the stack of boxes far below them.

When she finally finished her inspection, she turned her full attention on Brennan, still fuming. "Why on earth did you call me if you intended to wander off on your own?"

"I didn't intend... did you find Booth?"

Rossi suppressed a sardonic chuckle and mumbled beneath her breath, "No one has your balls anymore." Then, replying out loud to the question, "No, I did not."

"What?"

"Nothing."

Brennan let it go. "Come on. I think I have an idea where to look."

She sighed. "I cannot leave Columbo here alone." Rossi pulled out her cell phone to call for backup.

"Why not?"

"Protocol," Rossi explained. Brennan was just about to launch into a description of where she could stick her protocol when the agent spoke again, irritably, "There are reasons why protocols are set in place, Doctor Brennan." She pulled her phone from her ear and looked at it in irritation. "What the hell? I always have reception."

She squinted at Columbo, rolled her eyes in frustration, and pulled a box from his back pocket.

"Damn jammer." She switched it off and redialed.

"So Booth could have been trying to call." Brennan's mind whirred and came to a halt. "But wait a minute, I just got a call through to Columbo's phone a few minutes ago."

Rossi squinted at the box in her hand and flipped it over, examining it, "His cell phone jammer must be blocking specific phone to tower communications frequencies only. And you are not using FBI cell frequencies."

"So it wouldn't affect incoming or outgoing calls on my phone or any incoming calls on your network."

Rossi nodded. She stooped once again next to Columbo while her call connected and pulled a phone from his pocket. "Is this Seeley's?"

Brennan took it and flipped it open to reveal a Philly Flyers screensaver. "Yes." She pocketed it along with Booth's gun and handcuffs.

The agent spoke with dispatch and requested backup, then flipped her phone shut.

"Columbo said that Booth was near the explosives," Brennan said, anxious to find her partner.

Rossi replied, "There is an area that I wasn't able to check before I came looking for you. I think the hallway might lead back around in this direction." She gave Brennan directions and looked at her unblinkingly. "Find him. And _be careful."_

* * *

Deep blue light suffused falling water as it cascaded down the rock face. Booth could feel its warm draw, the downward pull.

He stepped under the fall and tried to drink, but his mouth refused to open. This filled him with deep sadness and he shut his eyes.

"Booth." The ringing, familiar voice sounded distant.

He opened his eyes. She'd sounded like she was far away, but stood not three feet from him under the flow of the water.

Booth tried to speak her name, but was once again unable to open his mouth.

Brennan's long auburn locks stuck wet to her face and body. Her lips looked as though he'd just been kissing her. She was speaking, but he could not discern any particular words from the mumble that sounded so distant.

His eyes travelled down her body. She wore a thin, white button-down shirt. The water had soaked it through and she was clearly wearing no bra.

Booth tried to draw her to him, but found that she was out of reach, regardless of how many steps he took in her direction. Her mumbled words sounded panicked, but her face was serene; the combination made him feel calmly unhinged.

Booth's eyes could not help but follow her hands as they travelled up the side of her torso, rounding the sides and cupping her breasts. She gripped, she pressed them together and rubbed a finger over each of the nipples now standing proudly against the wet fabric. Her open mouth formed a silent moan. The distant mumbling did not match.

He watched, transfixed, as she leaned her head back and peeled the wet shirt up and over her head. The warm water poured the strands of hair down her back and she brought her fingers back to run in the canyon between her full breasts.

He suddenly stumbled and the water became cooler.

She abruptly stood close before him. Her eyes were plaintive. His name tumbled from her lips like water over the fall, "Booth, Booth, Booth..."

_Get up, Booth._

_Get up. Bones needs you._

* * *

Brennan stood at an angle, aimed her own gun at the lock on the only room she couldn't enter, and fired. The handle was hot and she recoiled, before grasping it through her sleeve and jerking the door open.

She had finally found her partner. He lay there, stripped down to his undershirt and propped against the wall. He faced the rapidly growling boiler. His eyes were closed.

_God, no. No no no._ Brennan rushed to him and felt for a pulse. The intermittent pressure beneath her fingers wasn't strong, but it was present and she breathed in mild relief.

He was a large man with lots of heavy muscle on his form and the fact that his body was veiled in sweat didn't help her efforts to relocate him to the hallway. She had noted that the factory was warm and humid before; she now knew where it came from. The fact that Booth had been locked in here for some unknown length of time (possibly hours) filled her with unease and her primary goal became getting him somewhere even slightly cooler. But it wasn't easy, and her head was complaining keenly with the exertion.

She looped her arms under his and gripped them across his chest as she heaved him out of the room. Her head was spinning slightly, but she ignored it and slammed the door shut, blocking the blast of hot air that emanated from within.

He appeared to breathe more deeply here in the cooler and clearer air. A good sign, she thought. But his skin was still far too hot; she needed to find a way to cool him down. She mumbled to herself, she spoke her thoughts aloud. _Stay with me, Booth. _Her eyes moved in a panic, not really expecting to find anything, but intense in the attempt. A water fountain would be helpful, but none was in sight. Only a chair graced the hallway. She let her head fall back in frustration and her eyes locked instantly on it.

A fire sprinkler.

_Please let the water be on. Please let the water be on._ She pulled the chair to directly beneath the spigot and pulled out one of Columbo's lighters.

Her fingers flicked. Nothing. She cursed and withdrew the other lighter. The second one worked and within moments, cool water came spraying down all along the hall.

She dove back down to his side, sat with one knee raised and the other stretched along the length of his body, and propped him up against the inside of her thigh. She smoothed the falling drops over his angular face and cupped her hand to gather some in front of his mouth.

"Booth, Booth, Booth," she called quietly to him. "Come on. Drink, baby. Drink."

His lips parted and he seemed to let a bit of it drain down his throat, though he still remained mostly unconscious.

Running footfalls disturbed the steady sound of the falling water and Brennan grabbed for her pocket, pulling out the first gun that met her fingers. She swung across Booth's chest and aimed his Glock back behind him at the approaching sound.

Rossi stopped abruptly and raised her hands. "Just me. Reinforcements arrived."

Brennan breathed deeply and dropped the gun at her side.

"He is alive?" she asked as she moved around to face him.

Brennan looked up at her and nodded.

_"Grazie a Dio."_

Brennan resumed trying to get him to drink. "Booth. Come on, baby. Come on." She cradled him, kissed his face. Hers was twisted with worry.

"You love him very much, don't you?"

Brennan looked up at her with desperate eyes. "Yes," she breathed.

"Good."

Brennan looked at her, blatantly puzzled.

"He has finally someone worthy of him. I didn't know if you were for a while. He has a tendency to choose women who are not right for him. It is very frustrating to see a good man dating beneath himself. I, myself, wasn't good enough for him. Not that I let it stop me from trying to be with him. But now I don't have to worry."

"You're crazy."

She shrugged. "I take an interest in people I care about."

"You're psychotic."

"Take care of him or I will kick your ass."

_Case in point._ "If I don't kick yours first."

Rossi's eyebrows rose and a smirk crossed her lips. "I was the one who took out Columbo."

"I was handcuffed and have a hole in my head. Come by my lab, I'll put one in yours and we'll call it an even fight."

"Ha!" Rossi roared. _"No one_ has your balls anymore!"

* * *

The sound of the waterfall morphed into a gentle rainfall that surrounded him. He was propped up against someone and a soft hand cupped his cheek.

His eyes opened and it took only one second to absorb the scene. Bones and Rossi were both kneeling beside him in a long hallway.

And behind Rossi, he could make out the slight, but taut form of Arthur Columbo approaching. He held a crowbar aloft and approached on them with a look of crazed malice on his face. Columbo brought his arm up in what would be a heavy swing at Rossi's skull.

Booth tried to speak, but his mouth still refused. His right hand twitched and touched his gun lying next to him. The grip fell into his palm like an old friend and he raised it.

One, two shots. Columbo fell. The gun fell from his hand and Booth slid back into darkness.

* * *

He must have only been unconscious for half a minute that time, because when he regained sight, Rossi was slapping handcuffs on Columbo once again.

"He's unconscious, but I'm not taking any more chances."

Just then a radio at Rossi's waist buzzed and a wavering voice spoke. "Agents be cautioned. Suspect... ow... has escaped."

Rossi rolled her eyes. "Yes, we gathered that." She pressed a button and replied, "Columbo is here. He has been incapacitated. We will need a second ambulance at the scene." The voice on the other end acknowledged and she gave directions to their location before clipping it back onto her belt. Kneeling beside Columbo, she applied pressure to his shoulder.

"He was handcuffed," Brennan insisted. "Who is he, Howdini?"

"Houdini, Bones," Booth corrected hoarsely.

"Booth," she gasped in relief.

"Did you use your FBI-issued cuffs on him?"

Rossi closed her eyes in frustrated realization and was quiet.

"And leave him alone with his keys?" Booth continued.

"He was not alone," Rossi argued. "He was with two other agents. But I should have taken his keys. I am not in the habit of arresting fellow agents."

"Why would he have keys to her handcuffs?" Brennan questioned.

"Most law enforcement cuffs use the same key to make criminal transport easier."

"Speaking of criminal transport," Rossi began and they turned to see three more agents approaching, "we need to get out of here."

Brennan's eyes met Rossi's in recognition, "That's an awful lot of sensitive explosive in the next room. I don't know what the autoignition temperature would be for some of those unstable explosives."

"It's not getting any cooler in here; the boiler valve is broken," Booth added, rubbing his chest weakly.

Rossi said, "I will call for a medic."

"No, we need to get out of here now." She turned to Booth where he was squinting and looking up at her. "Can you walk?"

He nodded. "Help me up." One agent supported him on either side as they made their way toward the exit. The third helped Rossi carry Columbo.

When they finally reached the outdoors, all hobbling as quickly as they could manage, Booth took in a long breath of cool, fresh air. The ambulances had just pulled up. They deposited Columbo in one and Booth at the back of the other.

No sooner had he been set on a gurney than a loud thundering BOOM made everyone duck. What windows remained on the old factory shattered and flung glass in all directions. The sound seemed to reverberate off all the nearby buildings. When it died away, the only sounds were of a half dozen car alarms and barking dogs.

Brennan sighed, nonchalant. "There goes the value on my condo."

Rossi looked at her and smirked in good-natured amusement.

* * *

_next chapter will be a bit calmer. in some ways, at least. ;)_

_oh please, pretty pretty please review! i've been building to this for months. and i'm really curious... how did these last four chapters grab you?_


	26. Recovery Again

_fear not, dear readers. I suppose I made it sound like the story was all over last chapter, but it's not. I meant what I said about springing endings. it ain't gonna happen on my watch. you can now ignore what I said about ignoring my chapter estimates. 29 chapters. three more after this one. that's how long we're gonna be._

_there's a scene in this chapter for which everyone can thank mumrulz and fanofbones (who are seriously awesome reviewers!). don't think i forgot those chapter 19 review requests! ;)_

_once again, thanks to EVERYONE who keeps on reviewing. you're the reason i write and post here._

* * *

Brennan's doctor was none too pleased that she had put herself in a position of danger and had been injured again, but his concern was largely academic. She appeared to have taken no damage aside from a few torn stitches and suffered only a short delay in her eventual recovery. Her head was still improving steadily. She hadn't even been admitted, though her doctor had insisted that she go home to rest rather than staying at Booth's bedside all night as she wanted.

Booth's condition was another story. He'd miraculously escaped full-blown heat stroke, but the combination of his severe heat exhaustion and mild concussion made his doctors recommend a few days in the hospital to treat his dehydration and monitor the condition of his head.

Booth had not forgotten all of their recent time spent in the hospital, and for the next two days that he was forced to remain there, he was downright cranky. The doctors assured Brennan that it was a side effect of his head injury and that it would fade. She cocked an eyebrow, but said nothing.

Of course, the fact that Columbo was recovering in the same wing of the hospital didn't help Booth's mood.

"He's under heavy guard," Brennan supplied.

"I'm not worried about him evading incarceration, I don't like that he's here. He's offensive. I don't like that he was in my house," he replied in sleepy disdain.

Somehow, Brennan suspected he wasn't referring to his apartment. No, there were few things that Booth hated more than crooked cops, and Columbo had polluted Booth's favorite place: the House of Justice, the FBI.

To Booth's great chagrin, he had a steady stream of visitors during his time there. He had no doubt hoped that he could keep the whole ordeal quiet, but the stir Brennan had made in her efforts to find him and the literally explosive conclusion to their experience at the factory had made keeping things quiet virtually impossible.

The squints were among his first visitors, and for their part, they were respectful, but Booth was still cranky when he didn't get peace and quiet. In fact, there was only one person for whom Booth's face lightened, and the small, curly blonde head made frequent visits and was ruffled repeatedly. Brennan found herself on the receiving end of many hugs from Parker when he discovered that she had been the one to save his dad.

In the end, Booth's injuries turned out to be milder than they could have been and he was recovering quickly. He blamed it on his habit of drinking milk every day. Brennan's mind began leaping through arguments about how milk is a substance evolutionarily designed to help baby animals gain weight and how leafy greens are better sources of calcium, but when she saw his eyelids drooping, she decided to leave it be.

* * *

_"You said_ that when you got horribly injured on the job that I could take care of you," Brennan stood beside Booth's hospital bed with her hands on her hips.

"When did I say that?" he countered.

"When I tried to help after the microscope incident and just before we were poisoned."

"Oh. Right." Booth tried to conjure a way out of his statement, but he was tired and in the end he acquiesced. It probably wouldn't be a truly horrible thing to have one of his two favorite people taking care of him. Though he did insist that they stay at his apartment. He repeated his theory of a person's own home being the most restful place.

"You seemed to recover at my place pretty well after our poisoning," Brennan argued.

"You were hurt then too. Now it's pretty much just me, so I want to be at my own place, dammit."

"Okay, okay," she said defensively. "Your place it is."

* * *

"So has Booth's mood improved at all?" Angela called down the hall. "I mean, I know his body's getting better, but what about his head?"

Brennan stood in her bathroom, packing a few things into her overnight case. "I suppose. He's still pretty grouchy."

"Well, he's always grouchy. You mean he's still overly so?"

"Yes." Brennan looked at her eyelash curler and dropped it back in the basket on the counter. "I suppose it's better than being artificially happy." She paused in her packing and remembered her discussion with Booth about how smiling clowns were the ones he 'disliked' the most because they seemed unnatural.

Angela chuckled, "Artificially happy isn't in Seeley Booth's repertoire."

"It's very true."

Angela poked her head into the bathroom, holding up some of Brennan's sexiest lacy lingerie in each hand. "Which do you think would cheer him up the most?"

"Ange," Brennan chastised her, "this isn't a tropical holiday, he's supposed to be resting. I don't want to tempt him to over-exert himself too soon."

"Then it's incentive for him to recover quicker," she said with a sly smile and returned to Brennan's bedroom to throw them into her duffel.

Brennan rolled her eyes. "He was cheerful to see Parker," she said with the tiniest hint of dejection.

"You're going to fault the guy for being happy to see his kid?"

"No! Of course not," Brennan replied. "It's just... you'd think he'd be a little happy to see me too."

Angela chuckled. "Are you kidding? You always make that man happy. I suppose you don't get to see him when he's not with you, but he's nowhere near as goofy."

"He isn't now though."

"Sweetie, you don't get it. You two are so good for each other because you can be yourselves around each other without worrying about it affecting how the other will see you. There's no one who's so well able to deal with his inherent grumpiness than you, and he's good at dealing with some of your less-than-appealing traits too. That," she zipped up Brennan's bag, "is the best kind of relationship you can ask for."

"I guess so." Brennan finished in the bathroom and came back out to the bedroom, carrying the small toiletries bag. "How do you know so much about our relationship?" she asked. "We've only been dating for a week!"

"Oh, you've been together for much, much longer than that. You only just admitted the romantic feelings recently. You two were perfect as best friends and you have that amazing chemistry, it only makes sense you'd be perfect as lovers." She hauled the bag over her shoulder and led Brennan down the hall. "Assuming, of course, that all of the _other activities_ that lovers take part in are satisfactory."

Brennan grinned. "More than satisfactory. You know that, Ange."

"Well I don't have any _direct_ knowledge. It's not like I've witnessed anything." Her eyes widened at the exciting thought. "Only word of mouth."

"I'm a pretty reliable source."

"I should hope so."

"Well, okay, so if we're so good together and can be ourselves and all, then why doesn't he want to let me help him?"

"He probably doesn't want you to see him as weak. He's always protective and doesn't usually find himself in this situation."

Brennan sighed. "Who'd have thought I would fall for such a _traditionalist?"_ They walked toward the front door and Brennan's eyes alighted on Booth's origami flower, propped up in the newspaper vase. On a lark, she picked it up and brought it along. It would be a bit more color for Booth's apartment while she was there, she rationalized. Perhaps it would help calm him.

* * *

"You are not to exert yourself. You are to rest and let your body recover. You are not going to lift weights." The late morning light illuminated the blinds of Booth's east-facing windows, casting a glow on the living room and his stubborn partner who was pacing before him.

"Pshh!" Booth settled further into his recliner and pulled his bathrobe around him.

"Pshh nothing." She stopped in front of him with her hands on her hips. "You have the best doctors and you're going to listen to them."

"They didn't seem all that special to me."

"Well they are. I called in favors. So you're damn well going to listen to them."

"You called in favors for me?" he asked, still churlish.

"Of course. You're my partner." She looked at him soberly. Her voice softened. "And I love you."

His scowl lifted the tiniest bit and then he smirked. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"I love you too, Bones."

"I know," she said in a quiet, matter-of-fact tone.

She bent over him and leaned down into a sweet kiss, from which his lips seemed loathe to release her. He threaded his hands through her hair. He cupped the back of her head, bringing her deeper into himself. _There_ was the loving Booth she'd been missing. He'd been hiding behind his kiss.

When she was finally able to pull away, she let out a contented sigh and said, "Don't think this gets you out of taking all your medications."

"No ma'am." He stretched up into her kiss again and she let herself fade away for just a few minutes in his soft embrace.

* * *

Though half asleep in his recliner, Booth felt a gentle pulling at the robe around his middle, exposing a bit of his bare chest and jeans, then his hands being brought around toward the back of the chair.

He kept his eyes closed and mumbled, "What are you doing, Bones?"

"Do you trust me?"

He cocked an eyebrow without opening his eyes.

"Trust me," she whispered into his ear.

He shrugged and let her pull his arms around behind him.

"Okay, I trust you, but are you going to tell me what you're doing?" Booth finally opened his eyes in curiosity, but Brennan was well behind the chair fiddling with his wrists.

She came back around and explained, "You said that you lose control and are very hands on and that it wouldn't be good for my head injury."

He finally understood and his eyes flew wide as he tugged at his hands where they were tied behind him with the soft belt of his robe.

"So I'm improvising."

She looked up at his face and watched his eyes go quickly from wide astonishment to aroused disbelief. Brennan glowed at his response and unbuttoned his jeans, sliding them down his powerful hips as he raised them for her. She eyed him appreciatively. Despite his injury, despite being supposedly 'very tired', he was already straining against his boxers.

And before even touching him, she found herself growing very wet.

It was a shame he had to take it easy right now, but they could at least both enjoy this much, she thought as she reached into his boxers and pulled him free.

He stood tall and proud. She gripped him with one hand and ran it lightly along his length while she kissed up and down his legs. Oh, she had been waiting far too long to give to him like this.

As when he'd been locked up in the factory, Booth willed his eyes to stay open. Unlike the factory, it was pure pleasure that urged his lids toward each other.

He blinked and she was kissing her way up his legs. He panted lightly.

Blinked again and her head was at the junction of his thighs. She let her eyes flutter shut and a smile spread across her face when her lips first touched him.

Heavenly lips. Heavenly tongue sliding up from his base all the way to the tip. He choked on his groan when she slid his head into her sweet mouth. It stretched and she let her tongue lavish in swirling circles.

Booth's breathing became shallow and erratic. She pulled his cock deep into her mouth and suckled. A grunt escaped him, then her name. Booth wanted to watch her lovely curls play through his fingers while she was running her hot lips up and down his shaft, but his hands could do nothing but tug helplessly at their binds.

Her hands, meanwhile, could hardly stay still. One had moved to cup his balls and was tugging at them gently. The other had danced its way up to his bare chest and was tracing the muscled lines there, occasionally diverging and rolling his nipples between her fingers.

He felt more than heard a low, guttural groan escape her throat. She was enjoying this just as much as he, Booth thought in astonishment when he saw her brows knit up. She began rotating her lips in a corkscrew motion while she dragged him again and again into her sweet depths.

Booth's hips were crying out in pleasure and he wasn't sure how much more he could take when she opened her eyes and looked up into his face. The icy blues locked quickly on his, but half closed in pleasure when she emitted another moan.

"Oh, God. Bones, I'm going to come," he stuttered. He meant for her to stop and mount him, to join him in the pleasure, but all she did was look up at him with twinkling eyes and began drawing him deeper, faster.

She meant to... _oh, good God._

His eyes finally slammed shut as the release coursed through his veins and he came deeply in her mouth. For a few moments, all he could do was quiver.

She cradled him gently inside for a bit and then withdrew, careful of his sensitive head and placing sweet kisses along the shaft. She was so gorgeous, looking up at him like she was, her eyes shining with delight. Booth wasn't sure he'd ever experienced a woman drawing an orgasm from him with such passion and then looking at him so tenderly.

His breath still came fast. "I love you" issued from his lips.

She cocked an eyebrow. "I don't usually believe post-coital declarations of love. They tend to be more chemically-induced."

"I thought it was all chemical anyway," he teased.

"Well, let's not jump to any conclusions about that. But you said it earlier too," she said with a smile. "So I suppose you're relatively sincere." She stood and sat straddling his legs and resting her hands against his chest.

"You'd better believe it." He stretched his face towards her and met her lips in a deep kiss.

Brennan eventually pulled away from the lazy embrace and stood up. "You just go back to your nap. I'm going to take a bath."

"You gonna...?" He made a show of tugging on the belt.

But she didn't say anything. She simply smiled and walked down the hall to the bathroom.

"Bones!" he complained. _That minx!_ He tried wriggling out of her binds, but she was very efficient and he could do nothing.

He heard water running in the bathtub and continued whining down the hall after her.

"Oh fine, you big baby!" she eventually called and opened the door. She hadn't gotten into the bath yet, but she was clearly close. She strolled back out toward him, completely naked.

Booth blinked repeatedly and stared. When she reached where he was sitting, he gathered his voice and spoke. "I could have gotten out of them myself, you know, but you tied one too many knots."

"Really," she said disbelievingly and knelt behind the chair, working at the belt briefly.

When she stood, his hands were still tied.

"There you go. I untied one knot. Have fun."

_Well, you asked for that, didn't you Seel?_

She smirked at him and travelled back down the hall slowly, letting her tantalizing hips sway wide.

He was frozen solid with his eyes locked on her ass until she disappeared into the bathroom. Then he began struggling at the belt of his bathrobe with renewed vigor.

"You're supposed to be resting," she said when he entered, wearing only his navy bathrobe. The belt was once again tied around his waist. His firm chest peeked out at her and she had to repeat what she'd just spoken to herself once again, lest she jump him.

"Well, I can rest in here," he claimed, pulling a stool alongside the bathtub and sitting facing her. He let his left hand travel to her hair, which she'd pulled into a knot at the back of her head. He released it and let his fingers roam. Brennan's eyes slid shut.

His right hand began at her neck and travelled down her body, sending little ripples along the surface of the water before it settled. She occasionally shuddered and disrupted the smooth liquid herself. His fingers were just circling the place where she'd wanted him most, the place where she'd been wet long before entering the water, when he removed his hand.

She protested. He pressed a kiss to her lips to calm her.

Above her head she could hear him removing the showerhead and turning on the water. _Ah, so that was his game._ She smiled, eyes still shut.

"You ever do this before?" he asked as he tested the water.

"It's one of my favorites." He let the hot water pummel her chest and she gasped in anticipation. "And I must say, you have a very nice showerhead."

Booth chuckled. "I bet you say that to all the guys."

She inhaled deeply as he moved down her body again. "Just you, baby."

Booth's heart swelled and he finally let the water fall between her legs as a reward. And _his _ reward, he decided, was getting to see the subtle gradations of pleasure she displayed for him. He studied how the slightest movement of his wrist made certain nerves twitch. He noted and saved for later how this pattern caused her cheeks to flush; that one goosebumped her chest; another made her legs squirm beneath the water. Her full breasts began to rise and fall rhythmically, causing the surface tension to break across her fair skin.

And then he reached for the switch on the back of the showerhead.

* * *

Brennan's body was thrumming. She was a tightened wire on some glorious instrument that Seeley Booth had mastered with water. It was astonishing that she didn't feel more impatient than she did, but she wasn't rushing for the precipice. Her body's vibrations were pleasure enough for the moment and she had no doubts that he would bring her to the fall eventually.

Suddenly, the strong stream that had been gently massaging her swollen lips and hood became a hard pulse. It commanded her heart to beat faster, but her entire body obeyed. Her lungs moved swiftly, drawing in cool air to contrast the water down below. The blood sprinted through her veins, and her skin rushed to create beads of sweat all along her face and neck.

Then the spray changed again to a steady stream, this one harder than the first and she felt herself buoy in the heat of the air and the water. The lips below tightened and a long, thready moan issued from her throat.

One final time Booth clicked the switch on the showerhead and she was being pummeled by harder and faster bursts of hot water. It was almost too much and she tried to recoil, but Booth held fast. She cried his name out. She filled the steamy bathroom and fogged the mirrors and windows with her voice and yet he held. He maintained the barrage until she grasped for his head and thrust her tongue into his mouth, and then he reached down to slide a single finger inside of her. It curled and she disintegrated under his fingers.

She buried her face in his neck while she shook. Her teeth sought his skin and she pulled it between them as she sought to express a bit of the sweet, sharp pleasure of her release. He exhaled hotly into her ear and she quivered in ecstasy a moment longer.

Booth turned off the water and removed his hand. He met her lips briefly, but pulled away sooner than she wanted in her relaxed state. Her mouth followed his cartoonishly when they smacked apart.

_What? No! Come back!_

He smirked at her as he stood and moved to the door. "I'll just let you finish up."

_Oh, that evil man._ She let her head fall back against the wall. _What a fool I am to love him so much._ She smiled.

* * *

_the smiling clown reference is from the "couples counseling" mini video following mummy in the maze. if you haven't seen them, they're short scenes that aired on the fox site of booth and brennan chatting in the psychiatrist's waiting room after many of the cases in season 3. go check them out on youtube._

_now don't you DARE talk to me ever again about 'needing to take a cold shower' after reading my stuffs. hot shower, removable showerhead? yes, please tell me all about that. but no more of this repression bullshit! :)_

_next chapter booth catches a break! and most of your columbo questions will be answered._

_reviewers will be mailed their choice of either booth or brennan wrapped in a pretty red bow._


	27. Unfold

_how awesome are my reviewers? big hugs and smooches to each of you!_

* * *

Booth retained his mood in some form or another for the remainder of the week he spent at home, particularly after Brennan had decided that additional sexual release was ill-advised for the time being. Somehow, though, however grumpy he was during the day, he still curled up tightly with her at night.

And that was how he woke up the morning he finally returned to work. Well, returned to the office at least. He still needed to be cleared for fieldwork by the FBI physician. But he was going stir-crazy at home, so the morning found him early to rise. He lay in bed, quite awake, a child anxious to go to summer camp.

He looked into the sleeping face of his Bones. It was a little odd, but when she slept, he had no trouble picturing her as a youth. Her sweet features were relaxed and she tended to pout a little. Booth was certain that should she know he found it endearing, he'd likely wind up right back in the hospital, so he kept it to himself.

In the end, unable to sleep, he untangled himself from his partner and snuck into the other room for a few covert reps with his dumbbells. It felt good to put his muscles to work again, and the endorphins carried him through his morning routine in near record time.

Brennan, however, was not so quick and Booth found himself sitting on a barstool at his counter with a second cup of coffee and the sports section of the paper, waiting for her to finish getting ready.

Being in such a domestic situation with Bones felt unexplainably comfortable. Perhaps because they were already so close? Because they had such a rapport?

Because she was such a strong woman?

He didn't suspect most people would have been able to handle the mood in which he'd been stuck. Actually, now that he thought about it, it seemed like a good number of his past relationships had dissolved because of precisely that. Either they had left him because they didn't like his attitude or he left because they became too edgy around him, like they were walking on eggshells. The ones who lasted the longest were the strong ones. Rebecca, Tessa, Cam.

Bones had been his partner, for several years had been closer to him than any of his past girlfriends, long before they'd even realized their own feelings for each other. But she fit the profile. Strong woman. Stubborn and beautiful. In the last several years, nothing else had really seemed that appealing to him. And Bones, his partner, his friend, his lover, appeared to be the epitome of the strong woman.

Yet she still felt the need to primp. The woman would look gorgeous makeupless, with bedhead and wearing oversized sweats, but she felt the need to (in her words) objectify herself by accentuating her appearance. Booth shrugged internally. Whatcha gonna do?

Leaning low over the counter and fighting the urge to check his watch again, he thought he caught a glimpse of half of a familiar face. An eye and a cheek, a little bit of a chin looked at him from near a crease. Booth reached out, removed the origami rose, and pulled apart the newspaper vase he'd folded for her in a drunken stupor. He spread it flat beneath his fingers. There was no doubt about it, he definitely knew that face. The words of the article diffused through his coffee-soaked brain, and finally his memory solidified. _Oh, God._ He dropped his head into his hands, laughing mirthlessly.

"Hey Bones," Booth called as he strode down the hall. He stuck his head in bathroom. "Babe, I've gotta go, can you drive yourself in?"

"Of course I can."

"Of course."

"What's going on, Booth?"

"I'm not entirely sure yet. I just have to look something up." He leaned in and kissed her. "Call you later."

And with that, he left. On her way out her eyes locked on the unfolded newspaper. One of the faces in the photo looked familiar, but she couldn't place it. She read the article and felt a vague and unexplainable dip in her stomach. What did it mean?

* * *

He didn't just call later, however. He hijacked her from her lab without explanation. This wasn't unusual. What was unusual was that she didn't argue. Curiosity filled her as they drove to the Hoover building.

Booth stopped in front of a door she knew very well, and she looked up at him. "Okay, Booth, I've been patient. Now what is this?

"Columbo's interrogation," he answered. Booth opened the door into the dark-walled room and followed her inside, hand at the small of her back.

Charlie and two other agents were surrounding a man sitting at the table, posing occasional questions. Columbo's arm was in a sling and his face was slightly pale. He couldn't fool Brennan anymore, however. She could see the hard predator coiled beneath the surface. Booth spoke briefly with the agents and they moved toward the door.

"No, Charlie. I'd like you to stay."

Charlie looked at Booth, half puzzled and half delighted as he moved back and stood against the side wall just a bit behind where Booth sat across from the handcuffed agent.

_Why does Booth want him here? _ Brennan pondered. Booth looked to her and let his eyes flicker ever so briefly in Charlie's direction. Brennan dipped her head in acknowledgment and casually strolled further back in the room where she could see all of its occupants.

Booth began in an easily discernible facade of mocking concern, "So, how's your shoulder?"

"Never better," Columbo replied, in a high, wheezy deadpan. "Thanks for the show of concern. It's touching, really."

Booth smacked his lips and smiled. "Anytime."

They looked at each other quietly for a minute. Brennan was very interested in this exchange. Cops had tried-and-true interrogation techniques, but this was someone who was not only intimately familiar with them all, but with Booth's particularly creative style as well. She wanted very much to focus exclusively on them, but remembered Booth's unspoken request for her to keep an eye on the room at large.

"So, explosives," Booth said with raised eyebrows.

"I have nothing to say about that," Columbo said.

Booth leaned back in his chair and hooked his thumbs in his belt. "Oh, well, that's okay. I'm not here about that anyway." He sat forward in his chair. "See, Art, we've get more than enough evidence to fry you for poisoning us. What I'm trying to figure out is motive."

Columbo looked at him with innocent eyebrows and remained silent.

"Did I look at you wrong? Bump into you, make you spill your coffee?" he questioned in a low, teasing voice. "What possible reason could you have for wanting me dead?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Booth."

"And how could you have known about the syrup? You follow me to the store? You hear around the office?" He paused and Brennan felt rather than saw his attention expand to sounds coming from behind him.

Charlie inhaled sharply and Brennan observed him bring a hand to his mouth. Booth didn't look over.

"Charlie told you all about my habits, didn't he?" Booth said with a smirk.

"Charlie talks to everyone about everything." Quiet. Cold.

The short agent's hand remained over his mouth and Brennan watched as his eyes widened in horror.

_Did Charlie talk to people about my head injury?_ Brennan wondered. It seemed that his favorite person to talk about was Booth; did his interest extend to Booth's partner? She recalled that when they'd first seen her at the hospital, Rossi had said that they were the topic of conversation at the office. Perhaps that began Friday afternoon following her injury and not just Monday after the poisoning.

As though he was reading her mind, or rather she was reading his, Booth asked the man across the table, "Did you hear about our first trip to the hospital on the day before you poisoned us?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Booth."

At this point, Charlie finally spoke up. "Yes," he croaked. After a swallow, he spoke again, his voice stronger. "I told you about that, Art. I told you that Booth would have her stay with him."

"So," Booth stood from his chair and moved around the side of the table, his back to Charlie, "you knew that Dr. Brennan was staying with me that Friday night. And that's the night you chose to break into my place. So you must have had a problem with both of us." He cocked his head and continued strolling around behind Columbo and spoke pensively. "But then again, perhaps I wasn't the intended target. Just a little extra fun for the effort."

Columbo looked at him disbelievingly.

"Perhaps it wasn't just for kicks though. I mean, if you had only one intended target, why on earth would you try to attack when your target wasn't alone?"

"Security," Brennan finally spoke. "Booth doesn't have a security system."

Booth's eyes flashed pride for just a moment before he turned his attention back to Columbo, who sat still as a stone. "I don't have a fancy state-of-the-art security service. But you knew that."

He strolled around so that he was standing right next to Columbo. And Charlie spoke up again, laughing mirthlessly in disbelief, "You asked my advice on security systems. On what other people in the office used. You were rooting for information."

Still Booth kept his attention focused on Columbo instead of looking at Charlie. "Let's return to the question of _why her?_" Booth looked up at Brennan, "Maybe he's just not a fan of your books."

"It's been known to happen," Brennan said, playing along.

Columbo didn't flinch under the gaze of the other occupants of the room.

Booth leaned down close next to him and asked in a loud whisper, "No comment? Well, that's okay. I know this too. See, Art, I just found out the most interesting thing. It turns out that you're set to go on trial for collusion, falsification of evidence and a few other choice activities from the whole Marvin Beckett fiasco thirty years ago. It's impressive that you and your dirty cronies have somehow managed to keep that from being a widely-discussed topic at the office, but what I find even _more _ interesting," he leaned further in, "is that the day before Dr. Brennan and I were poisoned, the witness list came out. And guess who was on it?"

Columbo looked at him, stony-faced.

"Ever hear of a fellow named Max Keenan?"

Brennan's blood ran cold and the dip in her stomach from that morning solidified while Columbo pursed his lips as though he'd never heard the name.

"Also goes by Matthew Brennan? Father of one Dr. Temperance Brennan? It turns out you're not that smart, Art. Having seen Kirby try that same tack, trying to scare the father into silence by attacking the child, and winding up dead for his trouble, I'd expect that you would have known better than to try to kill a Brennan."

Forgetting her charge to watch Charlie, Brennan stared in shock at her partner and his interrogatee.

"So when Max repaid the favor and you wound up walking away as well, you figured _hey_ what a great opportunity to pin our poisoning on someone else. But you forgot one thing."

Columbo looked an amused question at him.

"You were trying to fool the best. You know what the Jeffersonian can do, and yet you tried to play them."

"Well, that's a very entertaining story, Booth. I'd like to see you prove it."

"In front of the judge, the jury, and the full press, yeah. Oh, I'm looking forward to it."

Booth stood abruptly and walked to the door, pulling it open and speaking to the agents waiting outside. "He's all yours, boys."

The partners walked from the room and he turned back to her, eyes full of guarded concern but still firm.

Brennan shifted her feet uneasily. "You didn't actually get anything out of that interrogation."

"Oh, no. I knew Columbo wouldn't give up anything new, but I needed to check Charlie's reaction. What do you think? Do you think he was in on it?"

"I don't know, Booth," she said doubtfully. He looked horrified when he realized he'd given up that information. I don't think he's that good of an actor."

"Yeah, I don't think he meant to either. But perhaps this will be a good lesson for him to be a little more cautious of what he says." He looked into her eyes sweetly for a moment. "Let's go get lunch."

* * *

Neither of them mentioned Max's involvement on the ride to the diner, nor on their trip to Wong Foo's when they discovered the diner filled to capacity. Booth was certain it was on her mind; she spoke little during the drive, and nothing of significance. He had a feeling he would need to gently prod her for her feelings on the subject, but didn't want to try until he could give her his full attention. Traffic was a bear.

Wong Foo's was also fairly crowded, but Sid managed to snag them a booth. After being assured that they were both making quick recoveries, he asked, "Why do I get the feeling that libations are in order?"

"Long day," Booth replied.

"We probably shouldn't," Brennan started.

Booth shook his head at her. "We absolutely should. You and I both need to celebrate our return to normal." He smiled across the table and took her hand. "Mostly normal anyway."

Sid chuckled. "You two finally pulled your heads out of your asses, huh?"

"We've got a working arrangement."

Sid snickered himself all the way back to the bar and brought their drinks before heading off to get their food.

Brennan fingered the stem of her wine glass. "Booth, how'd you know?"

"You know the newspaper vase I folded for you?"

"Yes."

"I saw a familiar face in a photo."

"I saw that you'd unfolded it. One of the lawyers looked familiar to me too. But we've met plenty of lawyers, so that's to be expected."

Booth took a swig of his beer. "He was meeting with your father when I went to visit him after you were hospitalized the," he looked up in thought, "third time. After your surgery. I couldn't place him then, but when I saw this picture, I remembered that he's a prosecutor. There's no way he would be one of your father's lawyers. Turns out he's working on the Marvin Beckett case against Columbo."

Brennan was impressed at his realization. "So the witness list comes out, the bastard doesn't want my dad to testify so he..."

"Tries to kill you as a warning."

"Us. But you called for help."

Booth nodded somberly. "And when we got out of the hospital and you went to see your dad..."

"He found out who'd done it and hired someone to take him down."

"Well, there's no evidence to prove that," Booth said defensively.

"But, Booth, we know..."

For the first time, Booth was thankful that Cullen had given Columbo's case to Rossi. "Hell Bones, I'm just glad it's not my case and I don't have to go hunting for some, so let's leave it there before I find a lead that I can't ignore."

The red lights reflected in Brennan's auburn hair and Booth watched her run her finger back and forth along the rim of her glass, take a sip, then return her finger to its paces.

"How you doing with that?"

For a minute, Booth thought that she would play dumb and make him be more specific in his questioning. But she spoke after a sip of her Riesling. "Well, it's not a new tale, but it's still not easy to deal with a father who is so involved in crime that he knows how to have people killed." She looked up into his eyes insistently. "And especially when he knows the person who poisoned you all those years ago."

"I'm sure Max didn't know about that."

Brennan thought back to her father's reaction when she'd told him about the Quantico incident. "No, he didn't." He'd looked appalled. That knowledge gave her only small comfort. "I thought there were no coincidences in murder investigations."

"It wasn't actually a murder investigation in our case." He smiled wryly. "And second, it's not a coincidence. It's just a small world."

"The size of the planet remains constant, Booth. And population is increasing."

"It's a small world in terms of criminals. And let's hope it stays small."

Brennan sighed and sipped at her wine. After a minute of silence, her face knit up. "If that's the case, then the probability of winding up with a criminal for a father is getting more and more remote."

"He loves you, Bones."

"Funny way of showing it. He doesn't seem to be able to give me his knowledge and trust me to take care of problems myself." She took a swig of wine. "All of my accomplishments mean nothing to him, he still treats me like a child."

"Well, Bones, that's all he knows. Ironically, when your parents left, they missed out on the whole 'letting go' thing."

"Are you saying he still honestly thinks I have the capacity of a 15-year-old? That I haven't grown?"

"I'm saying that when he got you back, he returned to what he knew. His capacity is as the father of a 15-year-old." He leaned forward. "And from what I'm told, that is when a father gets most protective: when the world is trying to take his daughter away."

"That's not rational."

"Your father is anything but rational. He's very much a romantic."

Brennan simply looked across the table at him, recognizing the irony of Booth blaming someone else of being a romantic.

He read her instantly. "Don't say it."

"I didn't say a thing."

"Good."

When Sid brought their lunches, which were perfect as usual -- their favorite mild comfort foods, they settled back into other conversation. Friends, the squints, Parker. It wasn't until they had paid and stood to leave that conversation returned to the case.

"You figured this all out from a face in a vase?" She made no segue from their previous and unrelated conversation, but he was instantly onboard.

"Well, that was the catalyst."

She shook her head in awe. "That is really impressive, Booth."

His smile reached the ceiling.

"And really hot."

Booth's face shot to mock-hurt. "I do all kinds of work to maintain this impossibly sexy body and it's my _brain_ that's hot?"

She looked him up and down. "Yeah, well your body is alright too," she deadpanned.

"Oh good," he rolled his eyes.

They walked to the door and he held it open for her, hand at the small of her back. "Hey, Bones," he paused, his curiosity boiling. "How'd you find me?"

"I used my _gut."_ The last word was a grunt. She grinned.

"You're a riot."

The door swung shut behind them.

* * *

_two more chapters... you're running out of time to tell me how much you love me. :) no, seriously, all of the mystery is now revealed, so what do you think? did anyone see it coming?_


	28. Inevitable

_sorry for the delay. i had to scrap my first draft of this chapter. my hope is that next chapter (the last chapter) will be done by next wednesday, before the new season begins._

_thanks so much to my reviewers, and especially those who have been hanging on with me all this time, giving their thoughts on nearly every chapter i write. you are such an inspiration! even when i can't reply to each review, it's such a compliment that you choose to continue with me. so thank you again!_

* * *

Brennan awoke from a curious dream. It resembled a lecture she'd attended when visiting a colleague at Stanford. He'd discussed social phenomena of emergency situations, how heightened emotional states caused societies to make rash decisions that they otherwise might not. He'd then morphed into a great brown bear in a clown hat and grunted about the chaos that arose from those impulsive decisions when the initial disturbance in the social climate settled.

A sliver of discomfort wedged itself into her brain. It had been during a life-or-death situation that she and Booth had made the decision to pursue a romantic relationship. She thought she had been rational about it, but perhaps there had been more at work in her mind.

_Doubting yourself?_

She blinked.

No. Regardless of what had initially sparked it, what compromises they would make, she intended to do everything she could to keep it from disintegrating. Booth was much too good of a man to be thrown away. She could not let either of them be cowed into decisions they would later regret.

So when she stretched in his bed, curled up with her back to his chest, and felt his "Morning, baby" seep into her deeply, warming her, she heeded the one vibrating nerve.

"Don't call me baby."

"What?" he asked, taken aback.

"Infantizing endearments. I don't like them."

"What the hell are you talking about, Bones?"

"I'm talking about the tendency to refer to grown women -- men too for that matter -- as helpless infants as a sign of affection. I am not helpless. I am not a child."

Booth took a moment of silence to consider this. Or to spur his mind into wakefulness. She suspected the latter when his voice was colored with that bickering irritation. "Angela calls you sweetie. Wouldn't that be considered a diminutive endearment?"

"It seems less of a diminution when you consider how long I've known her. I was still a teenager when she began calling me that. That's an exception, not the rule."

"You let Max call you baby."

"Booth, I am _literally_ his progeny. But you are right, he has expressed a tendency to treat me like a child. I should say something to him about that."

"Bones, not every person who uses a youthful petname for you is making some comment about your maturity."

"Can I just point out how wrong the term _petname_ is?"

"Fine, a nickname then," he argued. "What's so wrong with me wanting a special nickname for you?"

She turned her head and looked at him in disbelief.

He rolled his eyes. "Okay, if you expect me to compartmentalize, I can't get in the habit of calling out 'Bones' every time I come."

"You really need that kind of a crutch?"

"It's a coping technique. We can't have me getting a Pavlovian erection in the middle of the lab. I'm just anticipating problems before they _pop up." _ He emphasized the last words by pulling her flannel-clad hips back against his hardening erection. "We can't be jumping each other in the janitor's closet."

"Mm. That would be decidedly unworklike behavior," she agreed in a breathy voice. He'd begun pressing soft, moist kisses to the back of her neck. _No_, she told herself. _You're upset. He can't just use his... ohhh... divine lips to placate you whenever he..._ She began to pull away from him, but he followed and intensified his efforts, causing her stomach to melt into jelly.

"You know," he murmured into her skin, "today is my doctor's appointment. Today I get the authorization for fieldwork. And _strenuous activity."_ He gripped her hip, pulling her tight against him, and then ran his hand up and down her front.

Brennan forced her voice to remain steady. "Then once you're cleared, we can recommence _strenuous activity."_

"You really want to wait? What difference does a few hours make? You know I've recovered."

"What if you aren't given the go-ahead after the doctor's tests? I won't have you relapsing on me."

He nipped at her neck and growled, "I'm good at tests. Trust me, I _will _ pass."

It took a full five minutes to pull herself away from his ministrations. She couldn't think of a single living soul who could more thoroughly test her resolve.

* * *

Brennan dove headlong into the skeleton from limbo that Zack had laid out when she arrived at the lab that morning. Work was always a good distraction, and she needed one desperately as Booth's teasing hands, mouth, and hips were still burned into the fore of her mind.

He wasn't the only one who was sexually frustrated.

"No obvious signs of foul play," Zack noted. "Brow ridge and Greater Sciatic Notch indicate female, mandible and shovel-shaped incisors suggest Native American or Asian descent."

"Good. Height?"

"I haven't been able to take measurements of the femur yet. I was about to do that."

Brennan made a 'go ahead' gesture.

"Would you like to place the tissue markers for Angela, or shall I?" Zack asked.

"Why don't you do it, Zack. I need to catch up on some paperwork."

"Certainly, Dr. Brennan."

Brennan was shuffling through file folders of cases that she had missed while she was gone when Hodgins knocked on her open door and moved toward her desk.

"Anything need doing with the limbo bones?"

Brennan looked up at him. "I believe Zack has soil samples from the scene where the skeleton was located."

"Great," Hodgins strolled in the direction of the door.

"Your workload has lightened?"

"Yeah, finally," Hodgins grunted. "I know we were just in Thailand, but after these last few weeks, I may need to put in for a little more vacation time."

"You should. You never really got to finish your trip." A recent memory of Angela's face flickered before her eyes. It had been uncharacteristically tired and dull lately. Brennan considered and then said, "Angela's been missing you."

His features darkened. "It's mutual."

"You know, we need at least three people to fill in for you whenever you're gone."

He scoffed, "Hell, I'll pay em. Angie and I just need to get the hell out of Dodge for a bit."

Brennan grinned and pointed at him. "I know what that means."

Surprise spread across Hodgins' face.

"Booth and I have been watching a lot of _Gunsmoke."_

Hodgins chuckled sadly and made his way toward her door.

"Jack?"

He stopped and turned back to her.

Brennan spoke hesitantly, "Do you... well your relationship with Angela might never have happened if we hadn't been taken by the Gravedigger." His eyes focused on her steadily as she continued, "It seemed to be the trigger that made you two decide to give it a shot. Do you ever wonder whether the emotional response might have clouded rational judgement?"

For one horrifying moment, Hodgins thought she was questioning the validity of his feelings for her best friend, but his perceptive mind quickly uncovered the subtext.

"You're afraid that your relationship with Booth won't hold up. That it's all some temporary chemical reaction and therefore not real."

Brennan was startled by his insight. It made her uneasy to be laid bare so quickly.

"The thought has crossed my mind. But you and Angela got together under similar circumstances and you're still going strong. It's just... do you ever think about the circumstances?"

"Yeah," Hodgins said, matter-of-fact. "All the time."

"It doesn't bother you?"

"Not in the way you're thinking. I wonder how it might have happened if it hadn't been for us being kidnapped, but I've never questioned whether it would have happened at all."

Brennan looked confused.

"That's not when our romantic interest began. It was chemistry and flirting and friendship that built over a long period of time."

She nodded.

"It's the same with you and Booth. You were destined to get together eventually."

"Destiny, Jack?" Brennan cocked an eyebrow at him.

"It was an _inevitability_. Maybe not a mathematical inevitability, but I'm certain -- and anyone here will agree with me -- that it was just a matter of time before you two started seeing each other. The specific trigger it took to make it happen is irrelevant."

"You're saying that our feelings won't change."

"Of course they'll change."

Brennan frowned.

"Your feelings will grow, and your libidos will ebb and flow, and you'll bicker. You'll fight and make up. And you'll be happy."

"How can you be sure?"

Hodgins shrugged. Then he smiled. "I have faith."

Brennan considered the entomologist's diagnosis when they were buried alive: _"You have a lot of faith in Booth."_ Faith was a foolish thing, irrational. But as she could trust Booth, as she could respect him, she decided that she could have faith in him. In them.

Faith was a frightening thing.

Hodgins left and she buried her nose in the computer screen, filling in blank fields on her forms.

She was a tightrope walker cruising along without a net. Horrifying. Exhilarating.

Three minutes later, the phone on her desk rang.

"Brennan."

"Hey, Bones."

She felt her stomach fill with pleasant warmth and propped the receiver between her shoulder and ear, continuing her typing. "How was your appointment?"

His voice was buoyant in her ear. "I've got five weeks to live. Tops."

The joking answer made her smile, but her voice remained steady. "What's the diagnosis?"

"Terminal besottedness."

"Hm." her fingers tapped rhythmically at the keys.

"No, seriously, I'm smitten. Completely full of smit."

"What's the treatment for that? A long lunch?" Brennan filled out the last box, hit save, and gathered the paperwork back into a manila folder.

"Baby, I promised you a long _night_ of screaming my name, not a long lunch."

Her stomach flipped, but she managed to steady it. "Don't call me baby."

"Well, in any case, I am cleared for fieldwork and for rocking your socks."

Brennan gave a noncommittal "Mmm." She twirled the phone cord around her finger. "Did you get the wrap-up paperwork on the cellar case?"

"It's in front of me now. I had to pull out my encyclopedia to understand what Zack wrote." Booth smacked a hand on a stack of reference books he'd placed on the table behind his desk. "Guess the wheels keep turning without us."

"Our squints are the best. Turns out there's an agent or two aside from you who know what they're doing too... and, well, I had a few video conferences with the lab last week."

"What? When was this?"

"You were napping."

"Oh, great. So it's just me who's expendable."

"Guess so," Brennan deadpanned.

"Maybe we should just get Sully back and you won't have to worry about compartmentalizing."

"Quit pouting, Booth. You know you're the best at what you do."

_I don't pout,_ he thought to himself. He sucked his lower lip back in.

Brennan rolled her eyes at his lack of audible response. "Oh, please don't tell me you need me to stroke your sensitive male ego."

Booth scoffed at her. "I don't have a sensitive ego."

Brennan's eyebrows lifted.

"And besides, I can think of such better things to stroke." His mind was back on his initial track.

"Subtle."

"What can I say? I want to touch you."

"You touched me this morning, Booth," Brennan let out a breath of frustration.

"Not like I'm gonna touch you." Booth's voice hit low frequencies that she wasn't aware that a phone line could carry. They set her stomach quivering.

She took a deep breath and made a quick visual check than no one was poking around the open door of her office. "You know, Booth, speaking of touch, I love sleeping with you, but it's kinda torture to not be able to _really_ feel you up." She spoke slowly, deliberately. She imagined caressing the smooth, firm skin and let her thoughts carry through the leisurely timbre of her voice. "I mean, it's difficult to keep myself from running my hands all over your chest." Her lungs expanded smoothly.

Nothing but halted breathing came from the other end of the line. She smiled at the lack of response.

"And, you know, the muscles of those strong legs." She imagined them at work. She recalled the feeling of grasping at his tight cheeks as he thrust into her. "Your ass... your hips... your hard-..." she took another deep breath and exhaled shakily.

A low guttural groan emanated from the phone. "Okay, maybe we _shouldn't _be talking about this at work, Bones."

"You started it, _baby,"_ she let the word tease him. "Oh," she played as though she'd had a sudden realization, "are you getting stirred up for me?" Brennan smirked. "Sitting there at your desk in a building full of agents with a raging hard-on that you can't do anything about?" Brennan spun her chair around and leaned back. "You know, the front of your desk is closed, Booth." She let her voice go low and breathy. "It would be so easy just to let your hand drift down..."

* * *

Booth let out a choked breath. He'd been joking around, teasing her playfully, and she'd turned it back on him _way_ too fast.

Her hypothesis had been dead on. At that moment, Booth was doing an excellent impression of the Washington Monument. And he wouldn't have left the shelter of his desk even if the building had caught on fire.

Was Bones really suggesting that he get himself off right there with all the people out on the floor who could see into his office? It just wasn't an option, but with that voice she was using, he wasn't certain he would have a whole lot of choice.

Unless he hung up on her, and that would be rude.

Booth listened as her voice continued to tease him, low and sultry, and he was very near slipping his hand down below just to relieve the pressure a bit when a figure moved out of an office on the other side of the floor. Booth's heart stopped.

Cullen. He was heading straight for Booth's office.

"Oh shit, I've gotta go, Bones," he cut her off. None of her protesting words registered with his brain as he looked around frantically. As casually as he could manage, Booth spun his chair around and picked up the stack of reference books.

_Please let the squint books be wordy enough._

The door of his office squeaked open and he placed them on the center of his desk. He spoke into the phone in a business-like tone, "I'll get back to you on that," and stood. "Good morning, sir," Booth said as he placed the receiver back in its cradle.

The books rose to his waist. _Oh, thank God._

"I hear you're cleared for fieldwork again. It's good to have you back," Cullen said. Booth thought he heard the hint of something in his straight voice. Pleased or constipated. He wasn't sure which.

"Thank you, sir. I'm glad to be back."

After a few more moments of conversation and instruction, Cullen departed and Booth fell back into his chair.

The cell phone on his desk chose that moment to buzz. A text message flashed across the screen:

_Pick me up at the dojo at 8. And give Cullen my love. ;)_

* * *

_so is anyone interested in a sequel? a sequel with more rossi, the bitch we all love to hate?_

_one more chapter to go. if you ask real nice, there might just be some smut. course, who knows, you might just be tired of smut! we have had a lot of it, after all. i wouldn't want to overload you... ;)_

_talk to me! click the button! _


	29. Sparring

_sorry about the delay on posting. it's been a while since i've split chapters, but it's happening now! you smuttophiles can content yourselves with the knowledge that both chapters will uphold our strong M rating. :) now enjoy! one more chapter to go after this one. remember to review! i love my reviewers, they're the bee's knees!  
_

* * *

When Booth cracked open the outer door of the dojo and spilled light into Friday's deepening dusk, the first thing he saw was a reflection. He was puzzled at the image and stepped inside to get a better view.

Dark wooden beams travelled the length of the long room's ceiling to where he stood in the entrance hall. Ten feet ahead they met vertical beams and erupted into glass windows and solid oak doors to the main room. Through one of the windows, Booth glimpsed the reflection of two figures sparring in a mirror on the wall. It wasn't until he'd opened the heavy doors and saw them in the flesh that he was able to confirm their identities. One of them was knocked flat on her back with a heavy thwap.

Brennan helped Rossi up. The two sweaty women spoke a few words, bowed to each other, and left opposite sides of the mat.

Brennan's eyes alighted on her partner and she snagged a towel before jogging over to him. "Hey, Booth. You're early. I still need to shower."

Booth spoke slowly, still a little dumbstruck, "Well, traffic was better than I thought it would be."

"Cullen didn't catch you in any compromising situations this morning, did he?" Brennan wiped her forehead and began rubbing the towel along her dripping neck.

He focused and challenged her with his gaze. "Very nearly."

"But you're innovative." Though her face remained steady, Booth was certain that he heard the shimmer of a smirk in her voice.

"I was rescued by a stack of those squint encyclopedias."

Brennan finally smiled widely up into his face. "Science saves the day."

Booth noticed Rossi passing near them to leave the room. She smacked Brennan's ass as she walked by. "See you next week, Tempe."

Booth thought he saw a flicker of fire in Brennan's eyes as she turned and smiled at her. "Bye, Stella."

The wooden door thumped closed behind her and he turned back to his partner. "When'd you two get all chummy?"

"While you were taking a nap in the sauna," she replied deadpan. "Speaking of which, let me take a quick shower so we can get out of here."

"Did you just make a joke?"

She smiled.

"About my harrowing personal experience?" Mock hurt.

"You're fine."

"Thanks to you."

"And Rossi," she pointed out.

"Yeah, don't remind me. What about the whole psychotic bitch thing?

"What?"

"Rossi. You're spending time with her now?"

"Well, yeah she is a bit... off, but people are rarely all good or all bad. Or all psychotic. I'm not going to hold it against her." Brennan draped the towel around her shoulders. "And, more importantly, I haven't had a good sparring partner in ages." She picked up one foot behind her to stretch her quadriceps. "I know I've been out of the rotation for several weeks, so I'm not at top form, but she is a damn good workout. I just don't know where the energy comes from when I'm fighting her."

Booth had his suspicions, but kept them to himself. He couldn't decide if the thought it was a good idea for his ex and current flame with all of their stories about him to practice violence with each other.

Nonetheless, he'd felt a certain satisfaction when he witnessed his Bones knock Rossi flat. "You seemed to be doing pretty well."

"Oh, you only caught the end. She's kicking my ass most of the time, but she doesn't have an injury she's recovering from." Brennan's eyebrows flashed. "I'll tip the scales soon enough."

"Competition? You, Bones?"

Brennan shrugged.

Brennan _was_ the competitive sort. As was Rossi. They would be spending time together? Booth's memory clicked to a particular day back in Brennan's apartment with the agent who had just left. Not such a good story to pop up out of context.

_Not such a good story to tell at all. It remains to be seen whether Bones is possessive, but she is competitive._

Bones is also rational. Get it out there.

He moved to pick up her gym bag from where it lay next to the wall. "Uh, in the interest of full disclosure..."

"Yes?" She looked at him expectantly.

"Rossi kissed me."

Brennan laughed, "Well yes, Booth. I imagine she did much more than kiss you."

"No, I mean recently."

She looked at him, and a silent growl arose in her chest. Pushing it down, she waited for him to continue.

"It was before you and I were together," he clarified quickly. "She and I were at your place picking up a file I'd left there. You remember, don't you, when I knocked all of them over, one fell under the couch and it happened to be the one she needed and I said I'd go get it myself, but she insisted on..."

"You're babbling, Booth."

"Right. Well, while we were there she tried to..." _Jump me? _ He extended a hand as though physically reaching for a euphemism.

"Reinstate your prior physical relationship?"

"Yes."

Her chest started growling again. "And?"

"I said 'tried,' Bones," he answered plainly. "Nothing happened. I told her I wasn't interested."

Irritated at her apparent territoriality, she forced her chest to calm. "You said it happened before we were together. Why are you telling me this?"

"Because, especially with you two spending time together," he gestured behind her at the mat. "I don't want that story to come out on accident and for you to get the wrong idea."

Brennan thought for a moment and then nodded. "I appreciate that." She relieved Booth of her gym bag and led them toward the hallway where she would split off to take her shower. "I can't say I blame her."

"What?"

"Rossi. For wanting you in her bed. You are rather skilled."

Booth decided she had given him the best response to the situation he could have hoped for from any woman ever. He vowed to show his appreciation later.

A smirk crossed his face. "I thought you weren't going to stroke my ego."

"It's a statement of fact, Booth."

"Go take your shower so we can go home, or I may just jump you right here."

* * *

"Booth, we _just_ got back to work!" The door of Brennan's apartment slammed closed behind her and she punched the buttons of the security system with a little more than the requisite force.

"Sick time is not the same as vacation time," he replied loudly from the kitchen, setting down the bags of takeout on the counter.

"Oh, you don't think it would look suspicious if we just happened to take simultaneous trips?"

"Not really. Zack takes his vacations when you do. It makes sense for partners to take their vacations at the same time. More efficient." Plastic bags rustled in the kitchen. "You like efficiency."

Brennan appeared in the doorway and looked at Booth pointedly. "No. I'll go crazy without work. I can't lead a purposeless life, remember?"

Booth had removed his suit coat and placed his gun on it. "I'm not talking about a year on a _dinghy_..."

Her eyes narrowed. "It was a yacht."

"I'm talking one or two weeks." He slid his shoulder holster down his arms and placed in next to the gun on his coat.

"Not right now," she said firmly.

Brennan reached up to the cabinet next to the stove and pulled out two plates. Making her way toward the table, puzzlement spread across her face. "Wait a minute. You actually have enough vacation days left after being off the job so much this last month? You're always the one saying that the government pays crap, and that you don't have a choice but to work. How could you even afford to spend money on this dream vacation?"

Following her with utensils and glasses, Booth suddenly got quiet. "Well, Hodgins did say something about chartering a plane to go back to Thailand."

She dropped the plates roughly to the table and rounded on him, face ablaze. "You discussed this with Hodgins without talking to me about it first? So _I'll_ be the spoilsport who's trying to ruin all the fun if I say no."

"Hey, he brought it up!" Booth raised his full hands defensively.

"I don't need you undermining my authority at the lab."

"Look, Bones, he just invited us to come with them. And before you say it," she clamped her open mouth shut, "I did not wheedle the invitation out of him."

"What did you tell him?"

"I told him I'd talk to you about it. Which," he hollered as she began to stalk away down the hall, "is what I'm doing!"

She turned back in the hallway, arms firmly akimbo, and seethed as he met her. Booth stepped right into her personal space, a place he'd seemed to have claimed as his own since the first case they'd ever worked together. "You're going to fault me for wanting to spend some time in a tropical paradise with a couple of our close friends and the woman I love?"

His eyes were dark, his skin flushed. His breath churned heavy and electric.

She blinked.

And launched herself into his parted lips. Booth almost stumbled over backward in surprise. While certain the conversation wasn't over, her enthusiasm suggested it was done for the time being. He recovered quickly and engulfed her in his arms, kissing back as though taking a deep breath before a plunge. Brennan's own arms threaded round his neck and locked behind his head. He couldn't have pulled away if he'd wanted to. Not that he had any intention whatsoever of trying.

The blood still surged through his veins from their argument and she was magnetic. Booth found himself caught in a fervor. His hand drew the fabric of her skirt up until he could reach her thigh. His fingers seized her skin and moved assertively toward her center. Brennan gasped. He smiled. He stretched his fingers between her legs and touched her wet skin. Only skin.

Turning his head and chuckling against her cheek, he asked, "Is there a new law against wearing underwear that I missed?"

"Complaining?"

"No, ma'am."

"If I'm going somewhere with you and I'm wearing a skirt, the probability is high that I'll be going communal."

Closing his eyes against the implications of this particular verbal blunder, Booth corrected, "_Commando,_ Bones. Going_ commando." _He gave his head a shake. "But it's a good bit of information to know," he murmured against her lips and captured them again roughly.

Booth's free hand slid to her lower back and pressed her up and into his chest while the other smoothed over the outside of her folds, urging anything _communal _from her mind. He intended to do very _private_ things to her. Before long, she tore her hands from behind his head and yanked at his shirt, followed by his belt. Booth could feel her push his pants and boxers down just past his hips. A primal grunt slipped from his throat, a mark of approval at her forwardness. Then her hands snaked beneath his shirt and pulled the bare flesh tightly to her body. She practically snarled back against his tongue.

_Message received._

Booth caught one hand beneath her hips and pulled them up to his. Her legs, no longer needing to support her weight, wrapped instantly around behind him and she drew her hips along the length of his reaction. The front of her skirt bunched up between their stomachs while the back brushed his shins.

Booth looked into her fiery eyes as he positioned himself and pressed inside. A groan. He fell forward, pinning her firmly to the wall, and thrust.

Unable to move, Brennan contented herself enveloping him in her long legs and running her fingernails across his back. He made the most mouthwatering sounds as she teased at his nerve endings. Between his humming into her ear and his kneading of her walls, she couldn't help but mewl steadily. His name, and God's tripped from her lips as he drove solidly into her.

She kissed, she bit at his jaw and finally felt the controlled tension he was building begin to unravel. Her deconstruction caught her faster than she'd anticipated. Very suddenly, "Booth!" was ripped from her throat and she experienced her muscles spasm around him while shivers suffused each limb.

Booth plastered the side of her face in kisses, but kept moving slowly, until she gradually came down from her high.

The anger had abated, and she found herself both pleased and excited. "Very impressive display, Agent Booth."

"I'm just getting started."

She believed him. He was still gliding inside her.

Her tongue darted out and touched his moist, hot skin. He tasted like... for the first time, the name Seeley seemed to fit. She didn't understand this unbidden thought, it made no sense, but took a long and open-mouthed kiss to explore the name.

Brennan finally slipped from his arms and let her feet hit the floor with a thwup. The fact of her partner stiff and bare in her hallway, ferociously desirous of her, hit her hard and she willed her knees to remain steady as she took his hand and pulled him behind her into the bedroom.

Booth's brain didn't bother to process the situation and he nearly tripped over the pants around his ankles in his eagerness to follow. _Perfect, Seel. Fall and break your neck in the middle of mind-blowing sex._ The slacks were gone in seconds and he was right behind her in nothing but his unbuttoned shirt. Booth took her hips and steered them in the direction of the bed, but she swiveled and put both hands on his beating chest, stopping him dead in his tracks. She pushed him to the corner until he collapsed into a waiting armchair.

Standing before him thrilled her. The sight of his erection was exhilarating, and her heart swelled with the thought that he was responding to _her._ But she felt a more intimate blaze in her stomach when she began removing her jewelry and let her fingers dance to the hem of her top. Booth's gaze never faltered while she removed her shirt and bra, but his breath seemed to hitch and weave with her movements. He tried a couple times to stand and assist, but she pushed him back down. Once her chest was bare, she took the time to cup her vibrant breasts.

The feel of her fingers on her nipples almost carried her away as the gauzy fabric of her skirt swayed against her smooth legs. Booth's sharp breath brought her back to the ravenous look in his eyes. Her fingers dove and inched the skirt down her hips. Silently, it fell to the floor and she stepped one, two feet out of the pool of fabric towards the man in the chair. His hypnotic sepia pools drew her in and she found herself straddling him before she even realized it.

His hands fell to the round of her hips, grasped her firm cheeks. Brennan lowered herself onto his throbbing cock. The groan of appreciation that followed could have come from either one of them; her wetness was beginning to drive him out of his mind again and his presence inside her was already stoking the fires that hadn't had time to die out since the hallway.

With a smile, Brennan realized that for the first time, neither of them had to worry about taking it easy. This could actually be the opportunity to make good on Booth's promise of 'screaming his name all night.' Of course, she planned to insist that he do some vocalizing of his own. The freedom to be as athletic as she wanted filled her chest with excitement and she began to move on top of him. She bounced, her stomach worked itself into a frenzy as her whole body joined in on the action; those muscles not concerned with the movement were focused on connecting with his torso, his head, his face. She sucked his lower lip into her mouth and nipped at it with her teeth.

He knew that his Bones would rarely be one to be passive in a sexual situation, but Booth had not been prepared for this onslaught. It was her retort to his bold assertion in the hall. When she eventually brought her feet to stand aside his hips and crouched down into his lap, sliding tightly around his shaft, he cried her name and held on as long as he could before surging powerfully within her. He throbbed when she followed right after, crying aloud, singing her ecstasy to him.

To the neighbors too, if her volume was any indication.

The hands on her ticking clock spun around several times before either spoke. "Ohhh, baby," he moaned to her finally as they let their hands meander, languid in the wake of their orgasms.

Brennan grunted in his chest halfheartedly. "Don't," she sighed contentedly, "call me baby."

"Mmmhmm."

Booth enjoyed the pleasant relaxation of his arms around her while she melted against his chest, resting with her knees drawn on either side of his hips. "Our pad khing is getting cold."

"That's what the microwave is for," she mumbled. It was a few minutes later when she sighed again, "Damn. Now you've got me thinking about Thai food. Let's go eat."

"Okay."

Neither moved.

"Come on, Bones. You're kinda in the position to move first."

"Mmmhmm."

Booth heaved a great sigh and wrapped one arm beneath her ass. With satisfactorily masked difficulty, he stood, still holding her, and let her slip until her feet touched the ground.

She grinned at him. "I like getting up that way."

"Well, of course you do. I have to do all the work."

She shrugged, passed him some flannel pants, and donned a robe before heading back out to eat. If they were only at the beginning of their evening, they'd have to fuel up.

* * *

_click the button and leave me some love to help me pen the last chapter!_


	30. Redemption

_superthanks to heatherberry for her awesome beta of this chapter!_

_sorry for the last chapter taking so long. i'd hoped to finish this before work got busy, but no such luck. delays seem to be the watchword around here, but here we are. we've come to the end. 7 months, 30 chapters, and 90,000 words in the making! huge thank yous to each and every person who's ever reviewed or fav'd my story! if you've enjoyed it, please let me know. anonymous reviews are still activated. and tell all your friends who don't like to read incomplete stories to come on by and check it out._

* * *

The rest of the night was spent in what Brennan thought of as an analog to gravitational potential energy. They'd only just finished eating when Booth pushed aside the table's contents and pinned her beneath him.

It was a relief. It seemed that their default, their comfortable state was to be tightly together in each others' arms, but they occasionally pulled their faces and torsos apart long enough to investigate new positions.

Brennan found herself very glad that her bedroom shared no walls with neighbors when the creaking bed echoed down the long hallway and her headboard slammed rhythmically against the wall. He pressed her deeply into the mattress and they each held onto the sturdy wooden frame as they thrust into each other. She came with a breath and a fierce cry and he followed, falling onto her.

There they lay, tied in each other's arms, sound kisses enveloping their consciousness until they regained their energy and he began to stir inside her again.

She spun over and rose to her hands and knees. Booth smiled, wondering that she should suggest this pose. But damned if she wasn't right. When he rose behind and entered her, they each groaned at the sweetness that could come from even this little body contact. Brennan grasped at the sheets and met his thrusts with rotation in her hips. When his fingernails began to graze up and down her back, she dropped her shoulders to the bed and grabbed for a pillow to muffle her scream.

The nails along her skin didn't stop until her shuddering release had slowed and he paused his movement. Then Booth reached around from right behind her and flung the pillow across the room. "Baby," he growled, "I want to hear everything I do to you."

She trembled again at his words and he gently pushed on her hips until she lay flat on her stomach. Then he penetrated her again and pressed all of his weight on her, let his head fall next to her ear so she could hear his ragged breathing and occasional curses while he pumped into her. At this angle, while the position of her legs allowed for less depth, he was perfectly poised to hit the spot that would set her quivering. As through that wasn't enough, he wound his arms beneath her, sliding one between her full breasts and the other down to massage her clit. She could hardly help but wail his name, and Booth relished the sound as they wound themselves in knots of pleasure.

From his throat came a low chanting moan in time to his thrusts. _Temperance... oh God, Temperance... oh God, I love you. Come for me, baby. Come again. Ohh, I need you. I need to feel you come._

His hot breath filling her ear, the smooth movement of his hips, his finger circling her clit all coiled her tightly and threatened to push her over the edge.

"Bones," he breathed into her neck, guttural, husking.

That did it. She jerked beneath him, but he held her fast and maintained his stroking while the orgasm stole over her and he pulsed within her.

They each rolled to their sides to let their lips meet, falling back to the ground state. Their arms beneath stretched upwards and ended in fingers that coiled together and their lips danced together until once again he grew fervent.

When his head gravitated toward her hips, she pulled and squirmed until they lay end to end and she could reach him. It was then that she discovered what he meant about losing control when she took him in her mouth. He growled and grasped her buttocks tightly, delving in and devouring her with an enthusiasm that made her head swim.

According to her hypothesis, some the greatest potential energy should have been when she rose above him and leaned back against his knees.

She wasn't disappointed. Arching like a bridge against his bent legs and sliding her sweaty body easily up and down was one of the most intense experiences of her life. Booth helped, of course, cupping his hands beneath her as she rode him. But from that vantage point she could revel in the glory of his warrior's body, hot long torso flexing to connect with her.

The hours passed and their endurance knew no limit and she screamed his name over and over again. As promised.

When neither had quite the energy for acrobatics, they simply explored the intricacies of gentle lovemaking. Just wet bodies rocking slowly together in love and admiration. He took up residence in her heart and she found her hypothesis disproved. When they made love like this, bound tightly together, not an inch of space between them, _there_ was the greatest potential.

_Ah,_ she thought, _we're breaking the laws of physics._

While they stirred, he whispered admissions and secrets in her ear. Things she never dreamed that she would hear. And the moving way that Brennan breathed his name in his ear while she came was more powerful for him than her screams.

* * *

Slivers of light streamed around her window shades and Booth watched particles waft lazily just above the sheets. Oddly enough, he didn't feel sleepy. _Must be your fifth wind._ Brennan lay on her stomach beside him with her face turned in the other direction. Positioning himself so that his face was just behind her head, he inhaled her shampoo with each breath and felt the tickle of the long strands caught in his stubble.

"You know what sounds really good?" he asked into her messy hair.

"Sleep?" she mumbled.

"Pancakes."

"Yes, sleep."

"No, it's Saturday morning. It's time for pancakes."

"It's time for inactivity of the nervous system and suspended consciousness," she muttered.

How did she talk like that when she was halfway to dreamland? "Bones, if we sleep much longer it won't be Saturday morning anymore and then pancakes won't taste as good."

"We can't sleep _much longer_ when we haven't slept _at all."_

He grinned. "Complaining?"

"No, but you can't wear me out like that and then expect me to jump up and be all light-eyed and fluffy-sailed."

"Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed."

He wondered why he was still so active. It probably would be best to rest. _Patience, Seel. The weekend will still be here in a few hours. Get some sleep._

He blinked.

"I'm gonna go make pancakes," Booth announced.

"I thought we'd learned our lesson about syrup."

"I suppose so," he sighed sadly.

"Do I even have any?"

"Angela stocked your fridge, remember? Look, you sleep, I'll go figure something out for breakfast. You have eggs, right?"

Already dozing off again, she made no reply, nor any move to stop him when he stood. Booth rounded the bed and observed his partner's form. For the years he'd known her, he'd always admired her feminine shape, but he decided he hadn't spent nearly enough time truly appreciating it.

Both hands were curled up under her pillow, elbows pointing straight out. The side of one breast peeked at him from where her chest was pressed against the bed and he followed her soft curves as they narrowed, dipped, and finally came to the swell just barely covered by the Egyptian cotton. She snored lightly with that telltale glow betraying the quantity and quality of her orgasms. From the splay of her hair that stuck to her dewy neck to the toes peeking out at the end of the bed, she was gorgeous. Booth's chest puffed involuntarily while he retreated down the hallway.

* * *

She was roused from heavy sleep by pressure on the bed, followed by a cold thread that drew itself up her spine to the base of her neck. A clunk on the bedside table and she felt hot breath at the hollow just above her ass. She glanced over and saw light glint through the translucent brown contents of a small glass cream pitcher. Booth's tongue began to slowly meander and swirl its way up her back.

Suddenly, she wasn't sleepy anymore.

"Mmm, you taste good." His voice's rumbling set her skin on alert.

"That's the syrup."

He dropped his nose so she could feel him shaking his head. "No. That's you."

Chills suffused her nervous system until he finally reached her neck and she flipped over beneath him. She had to admit that she loved the taste of sweetness on his tongue. Who knew she'd be such a sucker for processed sugar? But, she supposed, when it was served in that dish, she'd be fed anything.

Brennan reached over and dipped her thumb into the little pot of syrup on the bedside table and ran it along his collarbone, offering her thumb to his mouth, which he took with zeal. She let her own tongue lavish over his skin and experienced the mingling of the sweetness of the syrup and the salty male musk of his skin.

She sighed, "You taste good too."

"That's the syrup," he mimicked.

"Oh, you're right, it is the syrup," she teased. But she continued to lick him long after it was gone.

And her tongue ventured far beyond his collarbone.

* * *

An hour later, they'd tossed the sheets from her bed into the washer and hopped into the shower together.

"Could you pass the shampoo?"

Booth picked up a bottle and handed it to her. "You know I wouldn't have taken you for an Herbal Essences kind of woman."

"What do you mean?"

"I thought you'd have some organic animal-friendly eco-suds."

"Well, I got this stuff about a month ago. I saw a commercial at Angela's and I thought I'd give it a try. She flipped the top open. I must say, though, it isn't really as good as advertised. I might just go back to my _eco-suds._"

"You don't like the smell?"

"Well, it's not that. It smells very nice. It's just... it's not as pleasurable as the advertisements indicate."

For one second, Booth looked at her. He searched for a sign of sarcasm, for some hint that it was a joke. Where was it? That had to have been...

_Oh, God. She's serious._

He roared with laughter.

"What?" she cried defensively, voice cracking.

But he could not stop laughing.

"Why are you laughing at me?"

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he squeaked between breaths. "It's just so adorable that you take commercials at face value!"

"Condescending."

"No, Bones, this is justifiably funny." His laughter faded to a grin and occasional chuckles. "It is far from common in our society to take commercials literally. You really thought that shampoo could give you an orgasm?"

"Well, there are _herbs_ that can act as aphrodisiacs. It's plausible that a product could encourage stimulation of various erogenous zones."

Booth pressed his lips tightly together to repress another laugh and gave a facetious nod.

"Scent is a strong trigger," she argued. "And, well, it was worth 3.99 to test it."

"Bones, if you want an orgasm in the shower, all you have to do is ask. I guarantee much better results than shampoo."

Fifteen minutes later, when he'd lured her out of her pout and given her several evidences to contemplate, she decided that he was right, and gave up her experiment with the highly touted hair product.

And, frustratingly enough, it left her stomach growling.

"Did you come up with something for breakfast?"

"Yes. Pancakes."

"Booth..."

"Come on, Bones. Syrup has just redeemed its good name. I'm not going to let that whole _poisoning_ thing spoil one of my favorite foods."

* * *

"Do you think Columbine will be convicted of all of the charges against Marvin Beckett?"

Booth stared at the woman cradled against his shoulder in disbelief. "Columbo, Bones! Honestly, he tried to kill us twice and you can't remember his name?"

"You can't seem to remember Gomogon's name and he tried to kill us."

"Only once though. The second time is the internationally-accepted juncture where you learn how to properly refer to your assailant."

"Mmm. I see. I shall make the effort."

Brennan silently confirmed her intent never to state the name properly, as she had done since shortly after the first time she'd blundered it. She was a little surprised that Booth hadn't figured out that it was intentional.

Gorgonzola. Pfft. She'd teach Booth about using the wrong name if she had to do it until the day she died. In his arms. At the ripe old age of 90.

She inhaled deep and his scent filled her senses. With that she tilted her face up to his and they sank into a kiss deeper than the Pacific, punctuated by light jabs and tickling and eventually intermixed with ravenous desire as they spoke their love over and over into each other's flesh. They reveled, came, and melted together, and when they began bickering again, lying so comfortably in each others' arms, it occurred to her that it felt suspiciously like home.

* * *

From the slacks on the floor, from the purse in the next room, two cell phones rang nearly simultaneously. Booth took down the address and they dressed quickly.

"Back to work, eh, Bones?"

"There are always more cases," she said, donning a jacket.

"Now all we need is an international one."

"International? Where do you plan to hunt murderers next?"

"Oh, I don't know... France?" He picked up his holster and slid it over his broad shoulders.

"Tu ne parles pas le francais. Tu n'aime rien de francais."

"England?"

Brennan grabbed her keys and purse. "I find it highly unlikely that you'd be an effective left-side driver."

He opened the front door and eyed her as she passed.

"...Thailand?"

"Booth..." Warning tone.

"Just saying!" He raised his hands defensively as the door clicked shut behind them.

* * *

_the end._

_thank you so much for following me through our adventure!_


End file.
